Tipping the Balance
by Khelditia
Summary: Kurt and Blaine were perfect, but life is more complicated than a fairy tale. Love and lust duke it out, but which will win? Or will it be a stalemate? Established Klaine, eventual Seblaine and Kurtofsky. Smut and some fluff, respectively.
1. Flashback

AN: Hello! This is my first fic, so please be gentle, and if you have comments or critiques regarding story, characters, or ANYTHING, please review! I will take it to heart. Any and all technical errors are simply me taking poetic license. This chapter is a flashback that encompasses "The First Time," and I try to stay as true to the characters as I can. Again, if you have any advice, please submit a review.

I do not own Glee. If I did, it'd have to be on HBO for all of the graphic realism I'd portray-namely, the language and sex.

Nor do I own the song used in part 4: "As Long As You're Mine" (with Idina Menzel and Leo Norbert Butz in the Original Wicked Cast Recording)

As a little tip before you read: Part 1 is from Sebastian's POV; Part 2, Karofsky's POV; Part 3, Kurt's POV; and Part 4, Blaine's POV. There are sexual themes throughout, but the rating is thanks to Part 4, which recounts Klaine's first time, according to my smutty mind.

Please enjoy! 3

* * *

"And could I also get a shot of Courvoisier in that?"

"A shot of what, sir?"

"Courvoisier. It's like a shot of espresso, only French, and much stronger."

"Sir, I apologize, but we don't carry that here. Would one or two extra shots of espresso suffice?"

"No thanks. I'll take it as it is."

"I can't believe you asked for a shot of Courvoisier in your coffee!" Blaine laughed, as they were walking away. His face was pricelessly incredulous, and as he walked in front... yep. Staring at that perky ass would not get old anytime soon.

"I forget how lame this town is. When I lived in Paris, I drank it like it was mother's milk."

"When you... lived... O-okay. Wow."

"What?" I asked, my face cracking in another stunning grin, seeing the expressions flit across Blaine's face rapid-fire. Let's see, amusement, intrigue, incredulity... the usual ones I get when I mention Paris and my-shall we say frivolous?-conduct there.

"You're just so... You're, you know, you're out there."

"And you're whole bashful schoolboy thing? Super hot." I smirked. I do that a lot. I not only saw Blaine trying to reign in a barely rude comment like 'crazy' or 'weird,' but he's always so polite and reserved. I saw the slight discomfort plastered all over Blaine's face now that the flirting began again. Well, it's true! People as hot as Blaine who act this repressed usually were even more fun to watch fall apart. Preferably underneath me, very vocal and very sweaty. Now there was a thought... I certainly hoped that Blaine would make use of my latest pass. I'd certainly made enough! You'd've thought that nobody could be this oblivious for this long, though from what the Warblers said, maybe Blaine was a special case...

"Look, Sebastian... I have a boyfriend."

"Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you," I immediately responded. I'm not stupid; I expected that someone like Blaine might already be in a relationship. Like infidelity is an issue! At least Blaine was getting where I was going. If Blaine was worried that I would scamper away from him because of pristine morality, then he's not just sweet for the sentiment and admirable for the honesty, but also sorely mistaken and not to be disappointed.

"N-no... I-I mean, I really care about him."

"He doesn't have to know." Then this was about his personal morals, not mine. Blaine was so obviously a virgin, it was both comical and endearing. If I could somehow sneak in a few stories of my sexperiences, maybe Blaine's hormones would override his small-town, goody-two-shoes, idealistic morals. He wouldn't be the first that that'd happened to. I just had to give him a few encouraging smiles, and maybe he'd succumb. Boyfriend, not husband, meaning no issue for me. I offered an encouraging smile. His stutters were adorable and somewhat telltale. Much longer, and I'd have him.

"I... just... never want to mess anything up with him, in any way... He's **really** great-"

"Who's really great?" asked some imperious elf, hair perfect, color coordination impeccable, and tight top surprisingly not setting off the sprinkler system. Who would want to frame such a girly figure, anyway?

Before I could finish wondering who this prissy bitch thought he was to interrupt, Blaine guiltily choked out, "Y-you!"_ Oh, sure, Blaine, make it sound like we were setting a time, place, and position, why don't you! _"We were just talking about you!" _Stutter and sputter anymore, and I may as well have been jerking you off under the table! _Oh well. So this was the boyfriend? Maybe getting into Blaine's pants was going to be easier than I anticipated. Both of them positively **reeked** of virginity, and it's easy to see this boy as an ice queen, and the frigid ice-blue glare he was directing at me did nothing to disprove that. There was Blaine, the adorably repressed schoolboy, and then there was this uptight man-child.

"Sebastian, this is Kurt, my boyfriend, who I was just-wow..."

"Got it," I said, trying to warn him that he was being so obvious. Who was I kidding? He wouldn't get anything so subtle if **my** flirting was so easy for him to miss.

Oh my God! Even the way this bitch was extending his hand was stiff! Ugh! I met it with my own, beginning the game. That glint was something I see in many boyfriends' eyes: possessiveness and a little fear.

Obviously, the warning that Blaine missed did not go unnoticed by him. He got what my game was. Okay. Let the power play begin.

"Pleasure." Kurt venomously oozed, his now sharp and, appropriately, green eyes boring down on mine as he sat next to Blaine and, just to drive the point home, just to beat the dead horse, took his arm in his own. "And how do we know Sebastian?"

_Damn, bitch, wanna accuse us any more? __**'We?'**__ Blaine might as well be screaming with the look on his face! Oh no... maybe I should try to diffuse this before his eyes fall out of their sockets. It'd be too easy to crush Mickey Mouse if I retaliate, anyway._ Before Blaine could continue with his awkward explanation, cute as it may be, I cut in as a mercy, my charming facade up.

"We met at Dalton." True. "Was **dying** to meet Blaine." After seeing some of their performance videos, also true. "Those Warblers just won't shut up about him. Didn't think he could live up to the hype, but as it turns out..." Oops. I just made another pass. In front of the Snow Bitch. Oh freaking well. This guy was blushing and smiling so much that it was obvious that this... that Kurt never impressed how sexy he was. Sweaters and dress pants only hide so much. Besides, that last part was so true that if Blaine couldn't've lived up to the hype, it would've been devastatingly pathetic and disappointing.

And not only had I just told the Scouts' Honor truth, I'd only made one little, harmless pass!

"Yes. He's even more impressive in the flesh."

That priss, with his creepy awkward laugh, probably had no clue as to how great an innuendo that would be...

Oh. Wait. Oh, he knew that this was a power play, and that bitch was gonna continue, even though I had given him a perfect out! In which case, that was a definite innuendo, and would have given me pause if there was any way that those two were even tapping second base. Kurt likely had no clue about any 'impressive flesh' unless he had also been sneaking glances at Blaine's pants.

The same Blaine who looked uncomfortable again. Come to think of it...

Blaine had never flat-out said that **he** was uninterested; he'd only outlined his unwillingness to hurt his beloved boyfriend, the same one who was treating him like he practically owned him, sitting down only so that he could grab onto Blaine. It looked like a chain being clamped onto his arm. He was also not joining Kurt in this silent battle.

Was he this-**this!**-oblivious? Maybe he was really interested in me, too? If we were to get alone, maybe a little drunk, then those walls would come tumbling down, and clothes would hopefully follow.

_Fine. Ball in my court, now? Bring it, because this bitch will._

"Hey, what are you guys doing tomorrow night?"

"Well, we're rehearsing for the school musical, and then, at bedtime, we do a **rigorous** skin-sloughing regimen over the phone together."

Skincare. He said that with a straight face, which was surprising with how gay it was. That, and that was really what they did at night over the phone. Oh My Fuck. They were absolutely sexless. Unless, of course, they had awkward virgin phone-sex with innuendoes about facials and moisturizing hand and body creams. Which I doubted. It was time to call them out on their frigidity. My smiles toward Blaine, when Kurt looked away from me, were met with blushes and downcast eyes. He wanted me, but was too whipped to voice it, somehow.

The only reason that this pathetic Kurtsy would be so threatened by me would be because of my seductive charms; otherwise, overhearing my persistent propositioning and seeing how Blaine received my passes would not be such a big deal. Therefore, calling Kurt out on being snowy would probably be an effective blow.

"And as... sexy... as that sounds," I said, grinning at an impassive Blaine when Kurt bristled at the particularly condescending and not-too-subtle sarcasm, "Whaddaya say we shake things up: I get you guys a couple of fake IDs and we head over to Scandals, in West Lima." The farther away from any prying eyes, the better. Especially the judgmental gazes of my future inferiors in the Warblers.

"Scandals? Uh... Th-that's the gay bar..." Blaine explained to Kurt, though he actually looked a little disapproving; maybe he was just wary. It **was** kinda seedy, but the next best place was in Columbus. Maybe some encouragement, with a hint or two about my skills...

"The last time I was there, I met the man of my dreams on the dance floor." _Maybe he'll get jealous?_

"That's so sweet. And... are you two still together?"

"Sadly, no, we broke up about 20 minutes after we met." Well, more like 10 minutes; very few guys could last with me. Oh no, blank stares! Losing them! Did they not know the concept of fun? Even if it **is** in a grimy backroom?

"Come on, guys, live a little!" Woah, I sounded **way** too desperate! Maybe I could pass it off as incredulity at the sticks up their asses.

"We would love to, Sebastian, thank you for the offer-that's very nice of you-but... ah... that just... isn't our kinda thing."

Okay, Blaine was taking the safe road. I guess I lost him on going to Scandals. Though that look Kurt had... He looked like he was thinking very hard, and he wasn't dumb, so what was he thinking? Was he gonna agree and try to prove that he could be just as sexy as I am, hubris as that is?

"Let's do it." Really? Ha! He was still trying to win the game.

"What?" _Come on Blaine, agree... You need to have more fun... Specifically, with me..._

"Yeah! I mean, we have a **whole** bunch of firsts to start crossing off our list," said Kurt sweetly to Blaine, even though going to a gay bar was not the most dire first that Blaine needed, and Ice Bitch was not the best candidate for any of those firsts. He turned to me, an intense but mediocre game face replacing his saccharine expression, and, out loud, said, "We're in," while surreptitiously saying, with his hardened tone, _You don't stand a chance_.

_Yeah. We'll see about that, Queeny._

"Great," I said on the outside, while conveying with my triumphant grin something a little more like, _Oh, no, I've got this in the bag. This is MY territory, now._

"Great. Yeah." Blaine seemed both confused and a little ticked with Kurt. Their dissent was is delicious. I could practically already taste victory. He was nervous about being tempted before, in the safe walls of Dalton's cafe and this quaint shop? Now, he looked like he was a dog on a shock collar planning a night with a T-bone in front of him. And I planned on making it very hard for him to resist me, pun intended.

* * *

I looked around before getting out of my car. True, I'd never seen anyone from school or church around here before, but you can never be too careful. I went from a school where I was the top homophobe to a school that made me look like a softy. I couldn't risk numbers like those knowing that I was gay. My life would be absolutely ruined.

I looked around one final, **final** time before I got out and jogged to the door. The bouncer knew me, knew my type of closet case, and let me in without checking for ID. Considering how miserable he looked, he probably understood the closet more than me. I went to the bar, in the corner, and ordered a beer.

This was my normal Tuesday night. It was my normal Friday night. It was my normal whenever-I-can-get-away-long-enough night. My parents thought that I was going to a party, or hanging out with friends, or whatever. So long as I wasn't threatening to kill fairy-boys, they didn't care where I went, so long as I was home before midnight. It was both relaxing and depressing.

Why couldn't I come out to them? Dad had said to Mr. Hummel that he was okay with gays, and I believed him. He **did** love me, and while mom was a little (okay, a lot) overbearing and fussy, she loved me too, though she and her church friends somewhat resented all sinners, which, yes, includes gays. Maybe having a gay son would change her mind?

No. I wouldn't take that chance. Not yet. Maybe after high school, or college, if that was an option, though it probably wasn't, with my grades. Maybe I could get someone to tutor me. Like Kurt, maybe, in my wildest dreams. He's mega smart. And he's beautiful. Maybe he'd fall for me?

_Fat chance, even in your wildest dreams. You threatened to kill him, for God's sake! The absolute best you can hope for, __**in your wildest dreams**__, is an awkward friendship, and that's pushing it_.

Well, I'd take what I could get, I guess. I finished the beer and contemplated getting another. I would have to drive home, but I was probably big enough to take another without getting anything more than buzzed...

And then I heard it. He was here. And he was beautiful. And alone. He was probably going to try for a quicky in the back room, again. He knew how to get a guy with little more than a bright, dimpled smile, a blunt pickup line, and, maybe, if you were lucky enough, a wink. And with as many guys as he got with little more than that, he was probably freaking awesome in the sack... I wish I knew what kissing a guy (when he wanted to kiss me back) was like.

Kurt was my first kiss, and that was a disaster. My twisted crush on him exploded in that locker room, and I scared him off. I was so mad at myself for being so stupid, so mad at him for not loving me, that I scared him off and out of the school, out of the city, out of my life. Just when I found a place where I could be gay and quiet and enjoy myself a little, I had nobody to share it with. Nobody my age, anyway.

Is that what people mean when they say, 'karma?'

I ordered another beer while I heard Sebastian ordering a gin and tonic. He always went for strong and expensive drinks. He was pretty addicted to alcohol. It must've been easier to come by in Paris, which I sometimes heard him talk about to the bartender. When he talked about himself and **not** sex, you knew he was wasted.

I tried to get up the courage to ask him for advice, but when I turned over to see if he'd already gone with some model, I nearly spit out the beer in my mouth, instead choking it down. Kurt! Kurt was here! In Scandals...

Why was Kurt here? This place was seedy and gross. Kurt didn't seem like the gay bar type, or if he did, it'd be some flashy place, like a kind in Columbus, or the ones in New York. Oh! Then I saw Blaine, the shorty who tried outing me after I kissed Kurt. I guess if they weren't dating then, they must've been now.

Sebastian was handing them drinks almost immediately. Wait, what? They were friends with Sebastian? Those two were so blindingly moral, and most of Sebastian's friends... weren't. If he had any actual friends. That weren't fuckbuddies, as well. Which I doubted.

I saw Kurt get something red... A Shirley Temple. So Sebastian was mocking him for being a responsible designated driver and a virgin, judging by the extra cherries. And Blaine got a beer. Something to start off a newcomer who could be fun, but get them loose. And probably undressed. And Sebastian had a gin and tonic. Mature, experienced, and expensive, and not for the weak-bodied, not with how he drank them like a fish breathes water.

I've been watching his drink code for a while now. I still drank beer. He never gave me one, since he only gave it to virgins that he was willing... to... screw. Oh. Blaine. Not good for Kurt.

Blaine and Sebastian were talking pretty animatedly. I couldn't hear any of their conversation over the beat on the loudspeakers, but I thought I heard, "Warblers" and "Dalton" and "Glee" every now and again. Kurt was glaring at Sebastian and holding onto Blaine like a lifeline, while Sebastian was leaning onto the bar, looking very much at home. Which, to some extent, he was. He was here every night that I was, and I was a pretty frequent patron. I guess that's how I knew his drink code.

Sebastian wasn't making any of his normal moves, though he did keep smiling. Blaine's face was getting flushed, and his eyes were starting to glaze. He finished half of his beer in one swig. The look on Kurt's face was one of mild fear, and I knew why. I heard in the locker room about Berry's party, when he got a little drunk and made out with her, even though he's 100% gay.

Apparently, this kid got floozy with the boozy. And Kurt knew it. And as smart as Kurt was, he knew that Sebastian would take advantage of it. And with as touchy as Blaine was starting to get, Sebastian was figuring it out. I could tell by the smile; it was getting wider, brighter, more dimpled.

Just as Blaine finished the second half of the bottle and almost slammed it on the bar with a _thunk_ that I could hear from my spot, the music changed, and it was another heavy dance beat. If Blaine had been a puppy, he'd've perked up his ears and peed himself with how excited he was. His mouth looked like he said, "I love this song," but I was only sure that he'd said that when Sebastian took his hand and led him to the dance floor.

I watched them dance, looking from them to Kurt, watching him as he leaned against the bar and... that was a pretty intense stare. He held up his chin in defiance, but he still looked worried, past the mask. I kinda got where he was coming from. He was pretty, but wasn't as sexy as Sebastian (who was trying to figure out Blaine's dance pattern, though there didn't seem to be any pattern in his drunken stupor, and looked a little awkward dancing by someone half a foot shorter and many times drunker. That, and it wasn't much a grinding song, which Sebastian would own, so they were twirling around each other, smiling at each other), so he didn't want to embarrass himself on the dancefloor. He knew Blaine would behave, and with him watching, so would Sebastian. He also probably figured out that Sebastian was slippery, so he was also probably worried.

It had been so long since I'd seen him, and while I remembered his face so well, he kept maturing and becoming more and more beautiful. I gripped my beer and choked back a sigh-even when he was mad, he tugged my heart to my throat.

I wanted so badly to talk to him... And why not? He was alone, and Blaine was too preoccupied to walk in on our conversation. I wanted to check up on him, and, more than anything, I wanted him to care about how I was doing at Thurston High, hoping against hope that he would be friendly, that he wouldn't shy away. _Take a page out of that Blaine kid's book? Have some courage. The worst that could happen is that he hates you_. And that scenario hurt almost as much as never speaking to him again. But... _Courage_.

So, I grabbed my near-empty beer, walked over to a seat a few feet away from him at the bar, and sat down, my ball cap still over my face. I couldn't stop staring for about another minute, because now I could see his eyes, and I tried to figure out what color they were... deep blue, I decided. I took a quiet, deep breath, moved to the seat next to him, and said, looking at my beer, "Better watch your boyfriend." This was going to go badly, I just knew it... "Another beer, please.," I said to tall, dark, and handsome behind the bar. Better prepare myself for... whatever was next.

I expected him to be surprised at anyone addressing him and breaking his concentration. as he was. What I didn't expect was his face breaking into a smile-a beautiful smile that melted my worries-once he recognized me. It was infectious. I smiled, too, looking down at my drink before I said anything stupid.

"So. How's life at your new school?"

"Fine," I answered, wondering how someone could be so perfect. I turned his life to Hell, and not only did he forgive me when I apologized as a Bully Whip, but he actually cared about how I was doing. I realized that he wanted me to elaborate, which took me by yet another surprise. I nodded, collecting my thoughts. "Y'know, I just wanted to have a normal senior year, play football without my teammates hearing rumors about me." Not that Kurt would tell. I trusted him when he said that outing people wasn't his thing. It was more if Santana needed leverage, or Blaine got drunk and... talkative.

"Just to let you know, I would've never told anyone," he assured me, leaning toward me with a look on his face that was something between hurt and bitter and sincere. _Shit! He thinks that I meant him! Smooth move, dumbass!_ Unfortunately, I was taking sip of beer, so I just nodded. "It's not who I am." _I know._ And then I lost him. He was turning back to Blaine and Sebastian, who were still dancing together. "So, you come here all the time?" Wait, he was still talking to me?

"People like me here. I feel accepted. I'm what they call a 'bear cub'," I said easily. It was true. Guys thought I was cute, but few were ever interested in me with all the other potential fucks. I didn't want a quickie in the back like Sebastian, though. Unless, maybe, it actually **was** Sebastian. Or Kurt, but he wasn't that type, which probably made him all the more attractive to me.

"Because you look like Yogi?" he quipped. I didn't know if he was slamming my chub or saying I was cute. Probably not the second one. I decided to laugh at it.

"I dunno... 'Cause I'm burly, or something?"

Then I looked away, a little embarrassed and remembering him calling me 'chubby' and 'ham-hock' in the locker room. Those thoughts were not cool, since that was when he judged me so immediately without knowing the whole story. I looked back only to see him looking away as well, nodding a little. Was he judging me **again**? My gut, and smile, fell. "What, is... is this the point where you judge me?"

"No! As long as you're not beating people up, I'm... all for being who you have to be at your own speed."

I thought about that. He accepted me, so long as I was peaceful, and he seemed to be forgiving me for what I did to him, because he understood my fear, to some extent. Then I saw him look back at his drunk boyfriend, getting a little bit more friendly with Sebastian. I could tell that the conversation would have to end soon, so that he could intercept. Wrapping it up so he could watch his boyfriend.

"Right now, I'm just trying to get through high school..." I said, and he sighed, and then smiled.

It was so genuine, so beautiful, I had to look down for a moment to get my bearings. I wished that I could read his thoughts, but, since he had to get to Blaine, I finished up with a toast that meant more to me than it probably did to him.

"Here's to baby steps." My bottle clinked with his half-finished Shirley Temple, and I thought of getting through high school, of my apparently possible friendship with this amazing man in front of me, and, unfortunately, about how Sebastian was going to take those baby steps to get into Blaine's pants. Knowing his reputation, it'd happen.

"Baby steps," Kurt murmured. I would have talked more with him, but he got up then, and, after staring for long enough, I'm sure he had been itching to do this, and our toast was the perfect segway. He got up, and... 'walked' couldn't describe how he moved. It was graceful and sexy and... it was like a sashay and a skip melted together, and... Wow, that was a great butt. I turned back to my beer once I saw that he had everything under control. The look he shot Sebastian was hilarious.

After a while, Sebastian gave up and ordered a glass of bourbon at the bar. Not that it'd get him drunk. It took about a full bottle of vodka to get him somewhat hammered.

Hrm... maybe Sebastian wouldn't mind giving me some advice on how to get a guy if he was hammered. He certainly knew how to make men go weak at the knees and strong in the dick. Maybe he had some pointers for me. Next time, probably Saturday night, when I had better clothes on, I'd gather up the courage to ask him, so I could, maybe, **maybe**, get Kurt to fall for me as hard as he got me to fall for him.

The next Saturday night rolled around, and I got in a black button-down and a nice dark jacket. Dark colors are slimming, right? If Sebastian was going to give me any free advice... I just wanted to look like someone he might go for, I guess.

I saw him go over to a CD display, picking out a song to play over the loudspeaker, so I followed him after draining my third beer. Needed to loosen up. Kurt was nice. Sebastian... not so much. He was known to cut guys down, like he could smell low self-esteem. I came up behind him as he was bent over, examining the shining CDs hanging inside of the display and the song choices, and gathered my courage for the second time that week. It had gone very well for me, before, and I needed it even more this time.

"So... So how do you get a guy to like you?"

"You? Get a guy? Please," he laughed, barely glancing at me before returning to the display. This was not going well. He wouldn't even look at me while he laughed at me.

"Why? What's wrong with me?" I asked, somewhat ashamed of even asking for his advice by now.

"Well, first off, you are about... 100 pounds overweight. Quit waxing your eyebrows-you look like Liberace... In fact, just stay in the closet, buddy," he rattled off, finally picking a song, looking at me only at the end as he patted my shoulder, still laughing at me with his liquor-loosened grin, and he walked away, leaving me there to rot in those insults, which were probably right.

_So much for courage. I need a beer._

* * *

Who knew someone so small could be so heavy? Or that someone so hygienic could stink so badly? Or that someone so prim and dapper could be so freaking fluid?

Oh, these were just some of the questions that had crossed my mind when I half-dragged Blaine out of the parking lot. True, the weight was probably from muscle, of which he had plenty, and true, the stink was from the beer in his breath, but really, how could he be so controlled when sober but such a floozy when tipsy?

Blaine staunchly kept our hands above the belt (or above the navel, once he realized that I kept wearing pants with lower belts) during our make-out sessions, and would always stop just as someone's pants got a little tight. Seriously? Even the baby penguin needed some heat here and there! And now? NOW? Now he had tried having sex in the back of my car. And he'd been too close to Sebastian when they were dancing at Scandals. So close that Sebastian was smiling, and Dave felt like he had to warn me. When I finally cut in, Blaine was happy, and Sebastian was miffed. Ha ha. But trying to go down on me after trying to get down with that... Incubus? Let me pull a Mercedes and just say, '_HELL TO THE NO!'_ to that. I tried conveying as much, but, apparently, while smart and dapper sober-Blaine would have understood, fluid drunk-Blaine was too dense to get the picture.

Now I don't know what to think. Was I being frigid? Was he being an ass? Who do I blame? Sebastian, for giving him alcohol and bringing us to Scandals? Me, for accepting the invitation? Blaine, for accepting the booze and making the moves? Should I have taken Blaine's advances? Goodness knows that I've been making hints that I want more, but he's been slowing us back down. _Maybe this was his way of saying that he's ready to go further? And I just shot him down. Smooth, Hummel! Ugh..._

I mean, when he pulled me into the back seat, I thought that he was being clumsy, or silly. Then he started spouting nonsense about how we didn't need to have a perfect setting, because us being together would be perfect. I see the sense in that, but he was forgetting that he was dancing with another man most of the night, and that he only danced with me because I intervened. Then he started getting handsy, and I would be lying if I said that I wasn't turned on by the fact that I was on top of him, and he was willing, not to mention the man that I love with all of my heart. But the sight of him and Sebastian dancing together never left my head for a second, and it made me feel dirty to have his hands on me so soon after that, so I kept prying his hands from my crotch, telling him to stop, and no.

The fact that he didn't stop until I scrambled out of the car, yelling at him, really hurts and bothers me. I'm starting to second-guess whether or not I can trust him. I mean, I've read that hormones during sex are just as intoxicating as some drugs, like alcohol, and if Blaine can't take, "No," for an answer when drunk, then how do I know that he'll stop mid-coitus if I tell him that I want to stop, that something hurts?

I'm also scared. I'm glad nobody was in the lot to see or hear it, especially Sebastian, but what if this little spat is grounds for a break-up? What if me saying 'no' to sex makes Blaine want to go to Sebastian, who seems all too willing to do anything and everything with Blaine, sober or not?

We needed to talk. But neither text nor phone call were wise with his current state, and neither of the two was a particularly good medium for this topic. School was not a good place to talk about our sex life (or lack thereof, even), so that left before or after the musical. Before the musical would be too hectic and distracting... So I had to wait until tomorrow night. Oh dear. That was plenty of time for Sebastian to get to him while he was drunk, to take advantage of him. I didn't know if seeing him at the musical tomorrow in the audience would be a good thing or a bad thing. It could mean that they were some kind of item, or it could mean that he was still trying to get into my boyfriend's ankle-flaunting pants.

I was so glad that I had called Finn to drive Blaine back to his house. Why did West Lima have to be 40 miles from Blaine's house? At least he didn't live all the way in Westerville.

I hoped everything would turn out okay.

* * *

The drive back from the musical was both awkward and exciting. We were in my dad's car, since I don't have one, and we intended to spend the night. Burt and Carole were away on a campaigning trip, and my parents were at an afterparty for parents. Knowing them from when they go to a party, and according to the drunk text from dad, they would be too sloshed to drive home. Apple and tree, apparently. So we had the house to ourselves for the night.

We would probably only focus on my bedroom though, judging by the look Kurt had given me after asking to come here. After what I had pulled in the parking lot last night, I thought that I'd scared him off. That smolder said otherwise. I could barely breathe out a confirmation.

And here we were. In my room. Any and all hormones were at bay as the anxiety set in. Talking would be so awkward. We'd basically left our mid-make-out discussions to, "I'm not ready for that. Let's wait," with a return to kisses. I had been facing the door, deciding on whether or not to shut it. I turned around to check on Kurt.

He was standing right in front of me, facing away, seeming to be just as nervous, though he'd been the one to suggest it. He also seemed to be a little more ready than I was. He was down to an undershirt and his jeans, and socks. I guess he wanted to make it easier, without any damned layers. No matter how stylish or form-fitting his many clothes were, none of them truly flaunted his perfect, flawless, creamy skin and tight, toned body. I decided to follow suit and discreetly strip to my undershirt, taking off my socks for good measure.

After, I closed my door quietly, walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around his chest in a hug, and kissed just under his ear.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." No hesitation, though his voice shook a bit.

"Should we sit down and talk about..." I trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

"Maybe we should... make out as usual. See where we go from there?" He turned around and looked down at me as he asked. My arms were still wrapped around his chest, so I could feel his heart beating as hard as mine was.

"On one condition. I play one of the most romantic songs I know. And we sing along. You know... to relax." That earned a chuckle.

"Says the guy who thought that he was terrible at romance."

I pressed play and snuck a peak at Kurt's face. The warmth there would have melted my heart if the very sight of it didn't do that, anyway. As the first few piano notes gave way, he began to sing, sitting on the edge of my bed.

_Oooooo, Oooooh, Ooh. _

_Kiss me too fiercely. _

_Hold me too tight. _

_I need help believing _

_You're with me tonight. _

_My wildest dreamings _

_Could not foresee _

_Lying beside you _

_With you wanting me._

_Just for this moment, _

_As long as you're mine, _

_I've lost all resistance _

_And crossed some borderline, _

_And if it turns out _

_It's over too fast, _

_I'll make every last moment last _

_As long as you're mine._

His angelic countertenor blended perfectly with Idina Menzel. His eyes held so much love and warmth, it was like I was swimming in the deep blue they currently were. As his voice died down, I sat down on the bed next to him, holding his hands, and continued, thinking of our time at Dalton.

_Maybe I'm brainless. _

_Maybe I'm wise. _

_But you've got me seeing _

_Through different eyes. _

_Somehow I've fallen _

_Under your spell, _

_And somehow I'm feeling _

_It's up that I fell._

He tightened his grip on my hands, and as we were relaxing with each other by singing both the past and present, and, hopefully, future, of our relationship, he joined, and we harmonized.

_Every moment, _

_As long as your mine, _

_I'll wake up my body _

_And make up for lost time._

We blushed, and he looked down. This next part always got to me, since I hoped that we'd make it past high school.

_Say there's no future _

_For us as a pair,_

_And though I may know _

_I don't care._

He joined in with the harmony, and even though that was the way the song was written, he seemed so completely sincere about it. Carpe diem, I guess.

_Just for this moment, _

_As long as you're mine, _

_Come be how you want to, _

_And see how bright we shine. _

_Borrow the moonlight _

_Until it is through, _

_And know I'll be here _

_Holding you, _

_As long as you're mine._

Somewhere in the middle, we'd ended up laying in the middle of my bed, holding hands, one of my arms wrapped around me, his under a pillow. Elphaba said the last few words, and we both rubbed our noses together in eskimo kisses. Afterward, there was only the silence punctuated by the rustling of the comforter as we moved to hold each other, not even kissing yet. We'd move up to that. We had all night.

I took one hand out of his and stroked his jaw, his smooth-as-silk jaw. This was already as naked as we'd ever been with each other. Now I was actually touching him. I let my fingertips lightly trail down his chest, over his shoulder, down his arm and back up, as my other hand was still intertwined with his, as he shivered from my light caresses. His free hand was holding my face close while I traced every curve, dip, and flex of his chest, moving under the shirt to better memorize it all. He was so smooth, I could hardly believe it. I looked down to see that his shirt was already hiked up to his chest, and I gave him a questioning look. He blushed, sitting up and parting our hands to take off the undershirt.

Before I could so much as sit up, comment, or continue mapping the topography of his body with my fingertips, he pressed one finger down on my chest to keep me down, quirking an eyebrow. He took that finger and dragged it lightly down my chest, so slowly that I knew that he was doing the same mapping with me, eliciting the same shivers. When he got to the end of my shirt, instead of going back up, though, he kept going down. Not much further, but he let his fingertip trace along the waistband of my pants, setting my skin down there on fire. Among other things. He was watching me from above, propped on his arm above my head on a pillow. When his hand stopped, he looked down, blushing and smiling both shyly and smugly. How he pulled that off, I'm not sure, but his hand kept moving, and now his fingers were stroking along my hip, down to my leg, down to the inside...

I took in a sharp breath as the heat pooling down there was getting to be more intense than I'd ever felt it with him, and the sudden movement caused him to retract his hand and place it against my stomach, muttering, "Sorry."

"Don't be."

He smiled at this and bent down to kiss me, looking at me through his eyelashes, but he stopped a few millimeters short, looking me in the eye, our breath mixing together almost too hot and quick. I picked my head up to fill the gap; that kiss had to be one of our best ones. The anticipation made it all the sweeter. Though, the sweetness very, very soon gave way to need. Our pulsating, closed-mouth kisses became open mouthed, with one of us sucking and nibbling on the other's lips at all times. Our hands finally could roam... **wherever**. That fact finally sunk in. And Kurt was finally shirtless.

He still had one arm holding him up and over me, while his other hand was pressing all along my chest under my shirt. I was reciprocating and feeling, for the first time, that beautiful skin that he always kept hidden away, and I was trying to memorize it all before he left it all to the imagination again. I moved my hands to his lithe back, lightly pulling him closer. He had hiked up my shirt before he obliged, and I peeled it off, our lips separating for an empty moment before they reunited, our tongues joining the mix, remapping each other's mouths from the last time we'd made out.

He took my shirt from my hand and flung it across the room while moving to straddle me. It was then that I felt, more than saw, that we were both **quite** hard. He felt it too, and we both gasped against the friction of our groins rubbing against one another for the first time. Oh **God**, I would have agreed to this so much sooner if I'd've known! We both ground into each other at the same time, and it was like heat was being poured from my belly into my dick, and I could feel him getting harder against me, too. Then I heard a moan, and another, and I think the first one had come from me, maybe. I tried to control myself, but he kept grinding. That is, until he noticed that I had stopped.

"Oh God! I'm sorry, was that too much?" He was starting to get up and off of me, and I immediately missed his heat and weight, not to mention the feel of his entire body against mine, with so much skin all at once.

"No!" I stopped him, and we rolled over so that I was on top. I tried to keep our bulging crotches from touching as I pulled him upright by his hands so that we were almost eye-to-eye, my arms wrapped around him, his around my waist, our mouths finding each other before I pulled away to continue, "I don't want to stop, but that's just it. How far are we going, Kurt? Better yet, how far are **you** willing to go tonight?"

"... I don't know. I can see us... I can see us really doing it. All of it."

"Oh. You mean even...?"

"Yeah, even... Even **that**," he murmured, blushing profusely, and looking down in embarrassment. I breathed a sigh of relief, now that he'd said it.

"You too?" His head shot up, a wary smile gracing those beautiful, now swollen, lips. "We go as far as we want tonight, okay?"

"Sounds... Sounds great! But I have one question. If we do get... that far..."

"Who pitches and who catches?" I offered helpfully.

"Yeah. I mean, you have the lead tomorrow night, as well, and you have to dance so much, so should I...?"

"Only if you're comfortable with it. We don't have to do it tonight, we don't have to decide on that yet, unless that's where we end up. Besides, Officer Krupke-"

"Still, you're Tony," he said, cocking his head to one side with a look that allowed for no debate.

I leaned in and kissed him lightly, settling my hips down a little, his legs wrapping around my waist. Even after that quick cool-down, we were still very hard, and as we ground into each other, our moans got louder and more desperate as we kissed harder and harder, our tongues battling for dominance. I think he won when he started to suck on my tongue, moving his head back and forth slightly, sliding his lips along like he was blowing me...

That imagery sent my hips into a violent thrust against his, and I was trying to get my tongue out of his mouth before he sent me over the edge. He took one hand from my waist and grabbed my ass so hard and fast that it slammed my crotch into his lap, keeping it from moving, but his other hand went to the back of my head, keeping our mouths attached and my tongue inside of his, as he went slower, moaning lightly. I whimpered into his mouth involuntarily, and he pulled back, his pupils blown out and his hair a little mussed. I was relieved that he hadn't made me cum in my pants. Yet.

"You like that, eh?" _Oh my fuck, yes!_ I just nodded, letting out a shuddering breath as I regained control of myself. "Want me to do it again?" I blushed and nodded, a little more hesitantly. He rubbed at my ass, grinding my hips into his own, and when he felt how much harder I was, he gave me such a knowing and lust-filled look that my cock twitched against his, which only elicited a smirk as he leaned to my ear, taking his other hand from the back of my head and sliding it into the crotch of my pants until he was rubbing at my erection, and whispered, "Want me to do it **here**?"

By now my stomach was turning into knots, from the way he was unabashedly touching me, talking to me, and looking at me. I barely squeaked out a shuddering, "Please, yes," before he lowered me down, kissing me slowly but more heatedly than he had before, and began unzipping and unbuttoning my pants with slightly shaky hands, peeling them off and letting my cock spring freer inside of my boxers. He lifted his face from mine, and began kissing his way down my jaw, down my neck, collarbone, chest, licking and nipping and sucking here and there. I tilted my head back to give him more skin to taste, and oh, fuck, how could he be so good, when he was a baby penguin not six months ago?

He found his way to my nipple, and began licking languidly at one before blowing on it and getting it to pucker up, latching his mouth down on it and flicking his tongue back and forth rapidly, just barely grazing it. My breath quickened as he kept teasing me, the shocks of sensation shooting across my skin. He brought his lips back up before going back down to give one more lick and then a sharp bite. All that time, I had been trying my best to not moan, groan, whimper, or breath too low and shallow and interrupt him, but that bite had me crying out unintelligibly. Kurt looked up at me, grinning, and moving to the other nipple, giving it the exact same treatment, but I didn't hold back any more moans and whimpers, and when he bit down, I cried a little louder and bucked up a bit. His hands, which had been roaming my shoulders and hip bones, pressed my hips back into my mattress while he continued, dragging his tongue down my abs, dipping it briefly into my navel, and stopping to kiss right above my waistband of my boxers. He took the waistband and dragged it down, slowly, but didn't pull my boxers off. Instead, he kissed his way along the newly exposed skin, nipping and licking at the hollows just inside my hipbones, brushing his nose lightly along the bit of fuzz leading down to his **eventual** destination.

He finally pulled my boxers off, lifting his head before my cock could smack him in the face. Instead of taking it into his mouth, though, he continued to kiss down my thigh, along the inside, sending more and more blood rushing to that area. He moved onto the other thigh, licking short trails before asking, "Do you want me to go to the one place I haven't tasted, yet?"

It took what little self-control I had left to not **shout**, "Oh God, Kurt, please! Yes!" even though I was still pretty loud. I was breathless and going insane, since my cock was aching to be touched, let alone licked and sucked.

"Yes, what?"

Was he really doing this? I breathed out, "Yes, Kurt, please taste my cock! I want you to suck my cock! Please, baby-" but I cut myself off with a loud, long moan elicited by Kurt licking a stripe from the base of my cock to the tip, and Oh Holy Mother of Fuck, that felt **amazing**. He continued to lick all along my length until I was slick, and then he lowered his mouth over it, encasing my dick in soft, wet heat. He licked lightly at the head and dragged his lower lip and tongue along the underside, before taking as much of me as he could into his throat. _Fuck! Virgin... so good... How?_ He kept bobbing his head up and down, from base to tip, licking at my glans at every pass and swallowing around the head at every plunge, hollowing out his cheeks the entire time, encompassing me in even more wet heat. His hands remained on my hips, keeping me from involuntarily bucking into his mouth. He left one hand to do it while the other slid down to my balls, lightly squeezing them and rolling them around. His middle finger was prodding about...

Oh God! He was brushing my perineum, and it (somehow!) felt even greater than before. He hummed around my cock, looking at my face, and I just kept watching him through half-lidded eyes, when they weren't squeezed shut in holding back an orgasm every other time he plunged down and swallowed around my cock.

"How... Ungh... How are... you so good?" I whimpered.

He didn't answer, he just quickened his pace and lifted his other hand and used it to pump at my cock, which sent me over the edge in no time. It might've been four pumps of his insanely soft hand mixed with a few squeezes from the other equally soft hand and another brush into my perineum from a long, graceful finger. He sucked at my head and lightly stroked a few more times, lightly squeezing my balls again, taking every last drop of my cum before stopping, just before the oversensitivity made it all hurt. He swallowed, which, being so hot, made my dick twitch painfully, and rested his head on my leg, stroking his hands along my legs and sides, smiling up at me.

"I've been practicing with bananas when nobody was looking, and I've been killing my gag reflex with my toothbrush when I brush my tongue. And I've been reading up and... experimenting. You know... when I masturbate."

I was taking all of this in and taking a few notes while catching my breath and letting the sated bliss take over. I would have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for Kurt kissing the inside of my thigh, sending electricity straight into my dick, which was still too sensitive. I gasped and sat up. He sat up too, and I saw that he was still **very** hard, and still in his pants. I felt bad for almost falling asleep without reciprocating in some way.

He noticed where I was looking and looked down at me, grinning and saying, "You looked really hot just now. And those pants you wear? They don't do you justice. I mean, **damn**, hon!"

"Well, now that you're seeing me naked, I want to see you."

Our lips met while I fumbled to undo his pants, and when I was peeling them off, I realized why his usually sweet breath was now more bitter: I was tasting myself. I was caught midway between being grossed out and turned on. I licked a little around his lips while I finally got the pants over both his hard cock and perky ass, and I gingerly licked his tongue while I grabbed his ass hungrily, pressing his hips to mine. I ran one hand along his back, pressing his body flush against mine, the only area not skin-to-skin being our hips, thanks to his boxer-briefs.

"Want me to return the favor, Kurt?" I asked while running a few fingers along the inside of his waistband, like he had done with me. He kissed along my neck and nipped at the crook, eyes closed, and he hummed in affirmation while blushing a bit more. I pressed my lips to his, then kissed each cheek, his nose, his chin, and worked my way down his neck, pulling his boxer-briefs off while pressing feather-light kisses along his chest, only lightly flicking my tongue along his nipples, before sliding his underwear all the way off and throwing it across the room. I also slid off his socks, just for good measure.

I sat back a bit, admiring the sight of my naked-finally, fully, 100% **naked**-boyfriend in front of and under me, waiting. I wrapped my hand around his dick, slowly jerking him off while I moved back to his mouth and kissed him hard. He moaned into my mouth when I twisted my hand a bit at the top, squeezing my thumb and forefinger together. I kept it slow, picking up speed when I felt ready to go down again. He was writhing under me, biting his bottom lip, trying not to make any noise. I got my face just over his throbbing erection, looking at him dead in the eye while I moved one hand to his balls and squeezed lightly, dragging my lips over the head of his cock. He threw his head back and moaned at the contact, and I licked at the underside experimentally. I realized how much easier it would be for my mouth to bob up and down his length if I kept slicking him up with my tongue, so while my hand kept fondling his balls, the other pumped what wasn't in my mouth, and I kept licking along every inch of his dick, letting my lips drag along softly. Eventually, my spit ran down to my hand, and I kept up a steady rhythm of pumping, rolling, and licking while Kurt whimpered slightly from in front of me. After I realized that I was getting hard again, I retracted the hand that was jerking him off into my mouth and used it to brace my head above his hips, giving my neck and thighs a slight break. I then plunged my face as far down his length as I could manage, and I was about an inch or so from the base before my gag reflex kicked in. I held back from choking, because he was breathing so hard, starting to sweat on his forehead. I looked up, trying to distract my throat from gagging by looking at his beautiful face twist in abject pleasure, my prim boyfriend coming apart in shambles in my hands and mouth. I wanted to see him cum. He was holding back, but I wanted to hear him scream and shout by my doing. And I wanted to be face-to-face when it happened.

I took one finger and, on an upward bob, left his dick just long enough to slick my finger up, and then I tried again to deepthroat him. I relaxed my throat, and I got further down, eliciting a shuddering moan from him.

"Fuck, Blaine! I'm so close..."

I took my hand and pumped his cock while I moved back up to kiss him.

"Kurt... Do you wanna... Uh, do it?"

"Yes! Please!"

I went back down and continued to suck his dick, taking that still-slick finger and tracing his hole, letting my fingertip slip in and out. He tensed up and got very quiet. I muttered for him to relax and push on me, and he did. I pushed in to my knuckle, wriggling it about to get further in. He looked really uncomfortable.

"Kurt, look behind my tissue box," I said, lightly pushing forward some more, moving my face down to his dick, licking and sucking, deepthroating more and more while he sighed at the renewed pleasure and rummaged on my bedside table until he found my small bottle of lube. He handed it to me, and I used my other hand to pour a little onto my finger, gently pumping it back and forth, slathering my finger and his hole with lube. He seemed much less uncomfortable now that he was slightly more stretched and that I was using lube instead of quick-drying spit. I crooked my finger up a bit, feeling something new, and he tensed up with a low groan of what I hoped was pleasure. "There?" I asked, receiving a nod in return. I kept my finger curled just enough to keep brushing his prostate and took the lube to get another finger slicked up. "More?" He nodded again. I gently pressed the other finger in, immediately crooking both fingers to make him feel good, instead of uncomfortable. I spread my fingers in a scissoring motion every few thrusts, and he started to move onto my hand in time with my motions. I don't think I'd ever seen anything hotter than Kurt, rock-hard in front of me, thrusting his hips into my hand while fingering him. I took a bit more lube for a third finger and pumped it in, scissoring all three to stretch him out for my cock, which was plenty thicker than a few fingers. I pumped in and out a few more times, brushing his prostate, feeling him loosen up a bit, hearing him moan softly to himself.

I took my fingers out and quickly lubed up my own cock while he whimpered at the loss. I refrained from jerking off too much as I slathered it on, since I wanted to last with Kurt, especially since it was our first time and I probably wouldn't. I lined my dick up with his entrance and gently pressed. I barely got the tip in before his breathing became high and slightly pained. I pulled out and pulled him up into a hug.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," I said while pressing butterfly kisses across his face.

"It's fine. I expected it. Please don't stop."

"Wait. Get up for a sec." I took one of his legs and got him to straddle me, his hips hovering over my dick. "Go as slow as you need."

He nodded and did so. It took a long time. Like, a really long time. At least, 5-ish minutes seemed like forever when the most impossibly **tight** heat was slowly, centimeter by centimeter, enclosing itself around your cock when all you wanted was to thrust up into it. But I controlled myself. I couldn't imagine (yet) how he must be feeling. Finally, he bottomed out. We rested there for a few seconds. He shifted about, wincing as he did. I held him still.

"No rush, Kurt. We have all night. I love you." That last one changed the atmosphere from hot need to gentle warmth.

"I love you, too, Blaine. I truly love you more than I know how to express."

"How's this? What we're doing?"

"This shows some of how much I love you. Only some."

"If you hadn't brought up the musical, I'd've switched places with you in a heartbeat."

"You really trust me so much? You've been considering this so much longer than I have... I'm still just a baby penguin with gas-pain faces, in comparison."

"I trust you just as much as I love you. You'd never hurt me, and I'll never hurt you. Like you said that you'd never say goodbye to me, I'll never say goodbye to you. I love you with all of my heart."

He cut me off from saying any more by kissing me deeply, passionately, and lovingly. No tongue, no lust, just a silent reciprocation of all that I just said. We both knew that's what it was, and we rested our foreheads against one another's after, just breathing and being together. I kept holding him close, and he started to move, bringing the fact that my cock was still balls deep in his hot, tight ass. We both gasped, me from the tightness and heat and friction, him from the fullness and dull pain, if his face was anything to go by. He moved up and down so slowly, so painfully slowly, that I thought that I might lose control of my hips, except that the look on his face when he finally landed on his prostate was priceless, and the breathless shout he emitted sent heat cascading into my belly. Hearing him, seeing him, feeling him, smelling him, still tasting him-all I knew at that moment was Kurt. And he was enjoying himself, quite immensely. He began to move a little faster, moving his hands from behind me to my shoulders. I couldn't hold myself back any longer. When he was coming down, I grabbed his hips and thrust upward, into his sweet spot.

"Fuck! Blaine! Oh, fuck!"

And he kept screaming profanities punctuated by my name as he and I continued to thrust into each other, slowly but passionately. I groped around for the lube and poured some into my hand, letting it warm a bit before slathering it on Kurt's cock, pumping back and forth in time to our bodies. He was too tight for me to last, and I was going to be cumming soon. Holding back to prolong this was great, but my stamina for it had run out, especially after already cumming once. With each thrust, Kurt's moans and shouts got higher and more desperate, and his cock was throbbing so hard, precum seeping out and mixing with the lube, that I knew that he was close, too. I quickened my pace, both in my hips and my hand, and before long, he slammed his mouth onto mine and screamed what felt like my name into the kiss. For once, I didn't mind him trying to keep it quiet. That one might've woken the neighbors. When he came into my hand and a little onto my chest, he clenched down on me so hard that I came completely undone, seeing and hearing nothing for a good minute or so, glad that his mouth was still on mine.

When my brain finally started working again, I noticed that we were both lying on our sides on my bed, breathing hard. I slid out of Kurt, who whimpered from the sudden emptiness, and drew him into my arms.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I love you more."

"Impossible."

We snuggled and drifted off a bit, in spite of the omnipresent stickiness and musk. I jerked back to consciousness when I felt Kurt pulling from our embrace. I grumbled something unintelligible, even to me, and he giggled softly.

"I'm gonna go wash up."

"Mmm... Sheetsh're shticky."

"Do you want to change them?"

"No. Too obvious. So's keeping them here. Wash them?"

"Okay. I'll help you strip the sheets."

I was slightly more conscious now, so I saw the disappointment on his face. If we washed the sheets, then there'd be no hot water for a shower. At least, that's what I knew he was thinking.

"Sheets get washed in cold water. Hot water's not going anywhere." He perked up at that. "And then I could join you in the shower," I added slyly, all lethargy out the door.

I don't think my sheets were ever stripped and washed so quickly before.

I think that's the first time the hot water ran out on me, too.

So many First Times, tonight.


	2. Startin' Somethin'

AN: Sorry that this took so long! I'd been working on it for a few months, trying to get everything right, but then school and moving caught up with me, and I didn't want to update a shorter chapter, and I hadn't had a consistent beta (especially anyone who knew Glee and the characters)... So, I'm sorry.

I know. Excuses are like butt holes-we all have them, and they all stink.

I do not own Glee. Otherwise, I'd be one of the co-stars.

* * *

We were in the Lima Bean, and I was helping Kurt fill out his NYADA application. He was taking his lack of achievements (losing the lead in _West Side Story_, not winning for Class President, losing at Nationals last year) pretty hard, and while coffee and escape from McKinley madness were helping, he still looked pretty dejected. I doubted that even cuddling up to a pint of strawberry sorbet and watching _When Harry Met Sally_ would properly cheer him up.

He sighed again, finishing up another portion of the application. I'd gotten lost in all of it, and didn't even remember what it was. Housing? Major? Essay? He took a sip of his coffee, and moved onto the last sheet in today's small stack. He sighed yet again. It was the one that asked for his extracurricular. It was the one he had been dreading. His GPA was phenomenal, his course load was the most advanced that the school offered, and he was the prince of essays. His only weak point, compared to hopefuls like Gerber-Baby-Murder-She-Wrote-Ultrasound-Harmony, was that his extracurricular was somewhat average.

Sure, he'd been on the football team and had won the first game for the Titans in decades, and sure, he'd been on the Cheerios and helped to win them a seventh consecutive National championship, but that had all been in one year, and if anything, that showed a lack of commitment. Glee might have helped, but 12th place in Nationals isn't great enough to guarantee him a spot as a finalist for consideration. Yes, he was in the musical, but only the lead would have secured interest. I felt another pang of guilt for that, but he never complained. To be honest, his extracurricular and Rachel's were both equally impressive, but hers revolved around dance, Glee, and being Maria, while Kurt's were more half-sports, half-arts.

But Kurt lost his presidency to Brittany (which I personally didn't mind; she's sweet), and Rachel got suspended. Black mark for her, so that pretty much evened them out.

"Rachel and I might as well get used to a life of barista work and summer stock. There's no way we're getting into NYADA, now! If we don't win at Sectionals, I pretty much have nothing to live for," he said, for the umpteenth time, shaking his head and flailing his hands with subdued franticness. Now that he'd brought up Sectionals, I couldn't help but feel even more morose. Kurt was upset over getting into NYADA, which only reminded me that I wasn't going to be going with him at the same time, which reminded me that I'd be alone with McKinley kids for another year, this time without him. Which reminded me of Finn. Which got me miffed. And when I get miffed and can't hit something, I rant.

"New Directions is a **mess**. I mean, we're gonna **lose**, Kurt. And I can't do a **thing** about it! Everytime I open my mouth... Finn gives me these looks like, 'What does he think he's doing?' I **know** what I'm doing." To be fair to Kurt and his rant, I've said this plenty of times, too. I got a little nervous whenever I caught myself, but I knew that Kurt sympathized with me enough to not berate me for bad-mouthing his step-brother. Conversely, he never spoke up in class, which I understood, but it still hurt a little. He can't take sides like that: step-family versus boyfriend? I wouldn't expect him to. I still wanted him to speak up for me whenever Finn shot me down, though. It's attitudes like Finn's that make me sometimes wish for the unity of the Warblers again.

"Hey guys." Speaking of Warblers... "So crazy! I was sitting over there, checking out this guy, and all of a sudden, I'm like, 'Wait a second, I know that hair!'" I really didn't know why Kurt disliked Sebastian so much. Yeah, he hit on me all the time, but I never reciprocated his intentions, I'd never cheat on him, and... it made me feel good. Especially now, I needed to feel better. Discussing Kurt moving off to college as well as Sectionals was getting to be a major downer. Kurt was rolling his eyes and watching Sebastian like a cobra. "What's up, buddy? I haven't seen you online," he amiably said to me. _Crap._ I never did anything besides gossip about the Warblers and turn down his occasional proposition or pass, but I still knew that Kurt disapproved of our friendship, and I knew he'd dislike me Skyping him. We behaved. Well, I behaved, and he usually behaved. Sometimes...ish. "Hi, Kurt." Okay. I may be oblivious, but even **I** caught how dismissive that was. After being with Kurt and chatting with Sebastian, I had caught onto their mutual disdain for one another; neither one was opposed to verbal conflict, either, judging by what I'd seen from Kurt and heard about Sebastian. I decided to answer before they got bitchy, which was an increasingly probable outcome, judging by the vibe I got from them.

"We've been..." Um... like rabbits in heat outside of Glee? "Really busy, with Glee club." Nice equivocation, there!

"Practicing for Sectionals. Together," Kurt said, looking and smirking right at me. Okay, he caught on quick, but he was being much more obvious about the innuendo. I was sure that Sebastian had gotten it when I saw him roll his eyes and barely hold back a grimace, sneering instead. I swallowed my coffee quickly, trying to salvage this conversation from impending bitchiness. Last time all three of us were here together, things got so out of control. I now knew what I was trying to deal with, and I didn't want to go through that again. So I kept the topic safe.

"Congrats on the Warbler win, at your Sectionals. We're up this week." I looked at Kurt, trying to convey a subtle 'Yikes.' I don't think I succeeded with the subtlety.

"Yeah! Well, hey, if there's one guy who can whip the New Directions into a legitimate threat, it's Blaine Anderson, right?" Now he was both complimenting me and verbally bitch-slapping Kurt! Not only did he just hit on my sore spot (_Damn you, Finn!_), but there was no way I was gonna salvage this, now. _I might as well give them time to get it off their chests. I'm low on coffee, anyway_.

"Right," I clipped, "I need another coffee." I got up and quickly got over to the barista. There was nobody in line to keep me there longer, so I just ordered another medium drip, telling the barista to take his time. I snuck a look over to our table, but it was mostly hidden behind a pillar. I couldn't hear screams or see blood, so I guessed they were keeping it tame. Mostly. Kinda. Sorta. Possibly. Ideally? I got my coffee, even though it seemed like it had barely been 20 seconds. I thanked and paid the barista, making my way over to them quickly, before anything escalated past... whatever they were doing. Insults? I heard the tail-end of the conversation, with Kurt saying something about Craigslist and Sebastian just humming a mirthless laugh. They had some of the fakest, most pasted-on smiles I'd ever seen. Too wide, too bright.

And I knew fake smiles. I got plenty of them from the silent homophobes at Sadie Hawkins and Prom.

I decided to feign ignorance. They'd believe that I was oblivious to this and naive enough to believe them. "Whaddaya guys talking about?" I asked, a little upset at their animosity; Kurt probably only thought that I'd left and come back upset because of Sebastian reminding me of Finn's tyranny.

"Duh! The next time we're all going out drinking, Killer!" Sebastian piped up, leaning back and trying to act smooth, even though I knew he'd been caught a little off-guard by how soon I'd come back by the slight hitch in his voice.

"Uh-oh." And I meant it, despite my joking demeanor. I got way too loose with the Goose, and we all knew it, and we also knew that Kurt didn't drink, and that Sebastian could hold his liquor. It wasn't a good combo before, and it wouldn't be anytime soon. Not with Sebastian being so, admittedly, attractive, and not with him now knowing about my low tolerance.

"Well, I gotta go," _Thank goodness!_ "but, you take care of that Warbler, Kurt." And then Sebastian winked, got up, and left. What did they say to each other? He called me a Warbler. Was he saying that he expected me to go back to Dalton? Kurt watched him leave, his shiny smile still in place, and I just gave him a bewildered, innocent look that hopefully conveyed some incredulity at Sebastian's words. I took a drink of coffee to prevent myself from answering to Sebastian's insinuation. And hoped that the subject of Sebastian was officially dropped, at least for now. And held back a yelp at how hot the coffee still was.

Why would he call me a Warbler, when I left them, albeit begrudgingly? So maybe I had told him how angry I sometimes got with the New Directions. I never told him that they underappreciated my show and leadership experience and skills; I just blamed it on personal drama. I wasn't quite lying when I said that, but I wasn't gonna give him anything that might be used against us in competition. I didn't think that he'd be above using any info that might slip out.

* * *

Warblers practice always started at 3:00, sharp, and ended at 4:45, sometimes. It was annoying for those of us who had sports practice at 5:30 when Warblers ran to 5:15, and I had to all but skip dinner. The student body might worship us, but the coaches and teachers were only appreciative. Not quite enough to brush off a sluggish or faint team member. Unless a competition was right around the corner. Then all-night practices were common.

It was very unusual for practice to end early, though. Today, because Nick had a family emergency and David sprained his ankle, and because not everyone was comfortable with being led solely by me, we basically did vocal warm-ups and a rough run-through of our Regionals show. We were gonna destroy those New Directions, if they even won Sectionals and got to compete with us. After meeting up with Blaine and Gay Face yesterday, I doubted that they were ready. We already had our next show, and it was coming along. They didn't stand a chance.

I was leaving after everybody else at about 4:15, and at a nearby deli, while I was having a cup of soup and a muffin before lacrosse, my phone buzzed.

**Blaine**

4:22 pm

_Hi. Hope practice is going well for you. I might be joining you guys again at this rate._

Blaine... joining... Wait, what? Did someone steal his phone? Was Gay Face playing some prank? If Blaine was anything, annoyingly enough, it was loyal. Loyal to Gay Face. Loyal to New Directions. (Yet not quite loyal enough to the Warblers. Go figure.) Threatening to leave them all was not him, at all. I was instantly suspicious.

**Sebastian**

4:22 pm

_Hi to you too. It went well enough. Before we go farther than that, state Rule One. I need to make sure this is you, because it doesn't sound like it_.

**Blaine**

4:22 pm

_Fair enough. Rule One: Don't talk about It. Didn't know, S. Who told you about me?_

**Sebastian**

4:23 pm

_Blows off steam. Logan said something last weekend when he could. So what's wrong? Break it off with your beau and need to be surrounded by more talent than Giant Peewee and Dwarf Barbara in a school that appreciates you? That bad over there?_

**Blaine**

4:26 pm

_Nobody respects me here but Rachel and Kurt, who is still my boyfriend, so be nice and no ideas, there. I'm not in the mood to put up with rejecting your passes right now. I'm more in the mood to find a punching bag that won't run to the principal. Or try._

So, wait... He was usually in the mood to reject my passes. Oh, I wasn't gonna say anything about it while he was in such a dour mood, but it was something to mull over and maybe bring up. So I was usually a self-esteem boost for him; I knew that much. He's too mad to reject me. But did this mean that he would accept a pass if he was mad enough and needed to blow off steam?

And they didn't appreciate him? This was new. He **must've** been angry to let that slip. Wonder why he never mentioned it before... _Must not trust me as a rival. Smart._

**Sebastian**

4:27 pm

_Wow. Pissed. I'll hold back my comments, despite how much I know they make you feel better, Killer._

**Blaine**

4:31 pm

_Fine, have at. Why are you out of practice this early, anyways?_

**Sebastian**

4:32 pm

_David sprained his ankle and Nick's dad had Indian food at a place where the servers don't understand the meaning of 'mortal nut allergy.' And I was gonna tell you that: …_

I started typing out the comments I held back, trying to keep them PG13-rated at the worst instead of XX-rated. By the time Blaine asked me what I was gonna say, I had just started to send.

**Blaine**

4:35 pm

… _?_

**Sebastian**

4:35 pm

_You pissed off seems too hot for reality; Boxing is one way to relieve stress, but I can think of better uses for your hands; They don't appreciate you, but I would; No matter how much you reject me, I know you like me and think of me-like my sex drive, I can't be quelled that easily. And other such sentiments as those. ;)_

He didn't answer, and I thought that maybe I'd crossed a line...

**Blaine**

4:40 pm

_Well. I'm in the training room now. I still can't think of any responses. And I'm still pissed. I'm gonna attack this bag until I'm not. Have fun at lacrosse. ttyl_

**Sebastian**

4:40 pm

_I was about to ask you where you were. Have fun punching imaginary ND members. Will do._

At that, I finished dinner and made my way back to Dalton. I was punctual and prepared, as always. By the time I had finished, gone back to my dorm, showered, and just finished the book I needed by tomorrow's English class, my phone buzzed again.

**Blaine**

8:02 pm

_So... Remember how I was so pissed earlier? Well, Finn walked in on me, I yelled at him, he apologized, and now all is well again. By well, I mean cordial enough to act like a team. By which I mean that we're winning Sectionals in spite of the Trouble Tones. Which means Warblers are in trouble for Regionals._

**Sebastian**

8:02 pm

_That so? How cute of you to say so. Do you guys even have a show for _Sectionals_ yet?_

**Blaine**

8:04 pm

_Oh stfu. :P We will so beat you. ND makes shows 2 min before performing them, and then wins._

**Sebastian**

8:04 pm

_LOL I'll take that as a no. Glad you're feeling better._

**Blaine**

8:05 pm

_Thanks. Me too. How are you?_

**Sebastian**

8:06 pm

_Wishing that I was sore from making you feel _even better_ instead of from my coach's sadism. I'm pretty sure he wants to kill his team with the laps he makes us run. I have stamina, but come on! Running 5 miles, not getting a break, and then doing drills, 50 push-ups for every time you puke?_

**Blaine**

8:07 pm

_You're kidding me._

**Sebastian**

8:07 pm

_I am, mostly. _:P _It was 3 miles, and we get a minute-long breather before drills. And it's 10 push-ups for every screw-up, 5 minute break on the bench if you puke._

**Blaine**

8:07 pm

_Okay, because the first time sounded like Coach Sylvester, not Coach Zimmerman_.

**Sebastian**

8:10 pm

_Well, have fun outshining the rest of ND. Heard through the grapevine that Berry's suspended, so good luck with Sectionals. I'll be there to watch you guys perform, and if you're tired of your lady by then, I'll be there to celebrate you winning. Privately, of course. ;)_

**Blaine**

8:10 pm

'_Winning?' Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can't wait to see you there. And no chance, S. G'night. Homework, etc._

**Sebastian**

8:11 pm

_I'll take that as 'try again later, S.' And I g2g, too. Won't tell you why, but I wish you were here. Night! ;)_

**Blaine**

8:15 pm

_You're incorrigible. Don't think of me._

**Sebastian**

8:45 pm

_What do you mean? I was drinking dessert. Was only wishing that you were here for a glass. Gutter brain. ;) Of course, now I have to go be contrary. ttyl ;P_

**Blaine**

8:50 pm

_I hate you sometimes. :P BYE_

Glad not. Otherwise, I'd have to give up on our friendship and my eventual conquest. But I promised to be tenacious, and so I will be. After all, he still hasn't told me to back off, or stop flirting. Heck, he flirts back on good days! And I now had other promises to uphold, starting with me putting my phone on my bed and vividly imagining what the bashful schoolboy looked like underneath his bow ties and sweater vests. And me.

* * *

This was disgusting. But Blaine's worth it. _Blaine is worth the stench. Blaine is worth the stench. Even the stench of public school. Even the stench of a public school freaking auditorium filled with too many barely-washed bodies and sweaty competitors. Just think of Blaine, and maybe the dried-vomit, B.O. drenched, dollar-store shampoo __**stench**__ will lessen. Blaine. Blaine. _Was that a dead cockroach? _BLAINE. BLAINE._

If there is one thing my parents did right by me, it's keeping me in private school. Dalton was pretty par, with everyone maintaining good hygiene, with the custodians keeping all bugs out, with teachers knowing their material. The hot guys and the dorms were just an added bonus. The meals were pretty decent. The indoor temperature was comfortable. But no cheerleading squad. I would've kinda wanted to try out for that. I'd taken some dance at one school and realized my knack for it. That got very fun with some of my more limber classmates. DFC was sufficient most of the time, though, in relieving any of my frustration. Somehow, Ohio managed to have gorgeous men by way of Dalton, but most of them were either genuinely straight or already paired off, so fucking away my frustration became a bit more difficult.

How could Blaine go from Dalton to this dump? Had I really only missed the Killer by a few weeks? _He and I would've been un-fucking-stoppable!_

I sat down near enough to the aisle that, if the odor got to be too much for my alcohol-toughened stomach, I could sprint to the nearest rubbish bin and barf. Not that I'd had much to eat that I could barf. Today was one of the days that Warblers had run late, and I'd inhaled a granola bar before lacrosse. I also sat far enough in that it couldn't look like I'd been late to Blaine (or Snow Fright); it also insured that I wasn't next to some slob or hobo who was late and sat in the aisle.

I watched the first two groups. They were quite good. I'd met Harmony once when I was checking out dance studios, but then dad got wind and told me to focus on academics. Since I'd automatically want to be a States' Attorney just like my neglectful daddy dearest. And Blaine had told me that the Trouble Tones were pretty great. They were pretty decent. It was fun. Then it was time for the New Directions. Even the name was awkward and bland, just like the school, just like Hummel. Blaine may be awkward, but he was adorable when he was awkward. And he was **not** bland, if half of what Trent and Jeff and Nick (and David, to some extent) gushed was true. Gushing wasn't strong enough; those guys were fanboys, and Trent was the most hilariously terrible at hiding it.

Aha! Spotlights going up... _Wait, what? Michael freaking JACKSON?_ Well, Jackson 5, but still! Wait... was that Snow Blight? He didn't sound bad when he went into a lower register (_not that I'll ever say so out loud_)... not too impressive, but not that shrill nails-on-slate horror that he speaks in... And Blaine was in the back. I nodded and clapped along to the song, because it was fun, though it was a little too heavy on Gay Face and too Blaine-Light. The next song, also by a Jackson, started off with some blond girl (either she was acting very well, or, the more likely reason, was genuinely psycho), but then Blaine started singing. Listening to him in person, compared to an audio recording, was like the difference between masturbating and a handjob. He was incredible, and I started to genuinely, properly enjoy myself while listening to him. And watching him dance. There were a couple of other good dancers, and I'd be lying if I said that they were unattractive, but Blaine was something else. Not to mention some of the sounds that he was soloing were pretty damn hot. And him singing about 'control' was so cute, since I could spot a sub half a mile away.

And here it was! The final number! For once, I didn't have to see Legolas' bitch prancing about in my periphery; and I got to listen to the hot guys sing, watch them dance, and see Blaine get more solos. The song was very moving, and though I'd never admit it, it was one of my faves. After "Smooth Criminal" and "I Want You Back," of course. Blaine was really into this...

I could tell that the New Directions would win. Jacksons and Blaine guaranteed that. And Blaine seemed to love this more than most of the performances the Warblers (mainly Trent and Jeff) had shown me from his time at Dalton. I could just add this to our growing list of common interests. Alcohol, Warblers, Michael Jackson, sports, and, eventually, sex.

* * *

This was so damn base. If anyone found out, I'd be absolutely ruined. I mean, how do you go from stoic playboy badass, to troubled youth, and back again? For once, dad had actually paid attention. I guess I should be thankful for that much.

Dr. Montgomery was staring intently at me, probably trying to piece me together. Good luck with that, missy. I had no intention of letting on how damaged my parents made me. I already knew my issues. They never noticed that there were any issues, even when I had asked to move to freaking Ohio. If she wanted to crack me, she'd have to get me drunk, and I knew that there was no chance of that happening. I just hoped that she wasn't in league with the bartender at Scandals.

"And, Mr. Smythe, what drove you to assault this boy?"

"Kurt is a bitch. MJ was Warbler territory."

"Had you any intention of hurting him?"

"No. The slushie was so icy that it wouldn't've permeated and stained his clothes very well, so I wanted it to melt some-hence, rock salt. And I knew that slushies were common at his school." _Talking too much! Make it terse._

"Yes. His school is a public school, right?"

"Yes."

"And you disdain the public school system, according to your father."

"..."

"So you must really hate that his boyfriend left Dalton for a public school and a 'bitch,' as you so eloquently put it."

Shit. I already said too much. Time to completely clam up before she found out enough to tell dad.

She noticed my taciturnity.

"Look, Mr. Smythe. I'm not going to delve into any personal topics yet. You're obviously uncomfortable with me. Would it be better to have monthly sessions instead of your father's preferred weekly ones?

"... Yes."

"How very terse. That compromise comes with a price." (_Of course it does. Everything does._) "Keep tab of your activities and internalized feelings and conflicts in a journal. Yes, it would be subject to my review, but it will also be a lot less embarrassing than talking to someone in person. It would also give you a catalog of your activities and thought processes."

I considered it. Talk to a shrink every Friday after school and cut into my free time, or write in a diary every other night? I could always do it during study hall, and I didn't have to be specific, and I wouldn't be subject to her disturbingly perceptive stare, constantly.

"Deal?"

"Yes," I sighed.

She got up, went to the door, opened it up for me while extending her hand. "Next month. Fourth Friday from today?"

"Yeah," I said, shaking her hand and shooting her my well-practiced, disarming grin reserved for polite company. I walked down the hall.

"Oh, and Sebastian? Start today or tonight. If you're not diligent, I'm rescinding the deal, and you'll see me every Friday evening until your dad says so."

I kept walking, looking over my shoulder and flashing another grin. "Sure thing, ma'am."

* * *

_Dear Therapist,_

_I thought that I'd elaborate that whole scenario, since nothing interesting happened this week besides._

_Kurt is a controlling bitch. Blaine deserves better than him, better than McKinley. I wanted to humiliate him. I ended up spilling that slushie all over Blaine. I was gonna go by his side and make sure that he was okay, but then he started screaming, and all I could think of was my team behind me, that they'd kick me out of the Warblers, and the Warblers are the main reason that the Headmaster is allowing me to stay at Dalton after that fracas. I have to win Regionals for us. I also couldn't go to Blaine, because he wouldn't stop screaming or writhing on the ground, and BitchFace was next to him, holding him. So I ran._

_To say the next Warbler meeting was tense... No. I was on freaking trial. The guys still loved Blaine like one of their own, which they all saw him as, and the only bonding I'd done with any of them was talking about him. Basically, I would win them Regionals and stay, or lose, and Nick and David would go to the Headmaster, telling him exactly everything. Blaine is still a Dalton Warbler, in spirit, even to the teachers, so I'd be out of Dalton faster than Pavarotti II would be out of my dorm if I set him free._

_I wouldn't be seeing you if my damn conscience hadn't kicked in. I took a huge chunk out of my personal fund, courtesy of daddy and mommy dearests, to help the Andersons pay for the eye surgery. Dad had decided to check up on his son for once through his bank account. I would have still been fine, but Nick had sent him an e-mail outlining what had happened. Dad think it's anger issues. Whatever._

_But there you go. A little more detail about the situation afterward. There was also a duel with one of the ND members (think of a Latina me) and a slushie facial for her, too. I've been called to their auditorium, just now, via text. Actually, all of the Warblers. Something to do with the contest for who will perform MJ at Regionals._

_LATER_

_Aaaaaand now the ND have given the Warblers proof that could get me expelled and arrested. I need to win Regionals, or dad will have my ass for ruining his political standing, and I'll be out of Dalton._

* * *

_Dear Diary Shrink Person,_

_I don't need someone to talk to. I need someone to punch me._

_My New Year's Resolution was to get Blaine. I mean, I like the guy way too much to make him anything less than a fuck-buddy. I'm not focusing on that, though._

_I have a second resolution. Dave, a teen gay who had asked for my advice on how to get a guy only for me to rip him an undeserved new one, attempted suicide a few days ago. I already extended an olive branch to the ND, but I want to do more than a charity collection at Regionals. I want to raise as much money as I possibly can (thanks to dad watching my account like a hawk, I can't just dump money from my account into the fundraiser) for Lady Gaga's 'Born This Way Foundation.' Even if it calls for a freaking bake sale._

_I actually had a great idea that just might work to further both of my resolutions. A party at my place, where I charge admission, and invite Warblers, Nightingales, and New Directions. Blaine gets loose with parties, and a game of spin-the-bottle always goes uncontested at a Warbler party. All I need is a little luck, and I could get a few minutes alone with Blaine in a closet, away from anyone who may interrupt._

_But, hopefully, that'll raise a few hundred dollars. I plan to donate $5000. I hope the audience at Regionals is gonna be in a giving mood. I seriously don't know how to clear my conscience of this any other way, and I don't expect Dave to forgive me any more than I expected Blaine to forgive me just because I paid 80% of the hospital bills. I keep contributing to hospital patients. I need some serious attitude adjustments. I'm raising money for the charity. I should also visit Dave and apologize. I got some practice with the ND and Blaine. They seemed to take it with a grain of salt. _

_Better than I'd do in their places._

_PS- I'd bet second base will make it easier for Blaine to fully forgive me. I'd've gotten that far long ago if it wasn't for his damn Hummel doll. If I don't get his shirt off or pants unzipped by the time that closet door opens, I'm abstaining from sex and alcohol for... two weeks._

* * *

Mom hates me.

Kurt doesn't want me.

My neck hurts.

Dad can't look me in the eye.

I can't escape the freaky stare of this suicide-watch person in this cold, dead, white room.

And now, as if my life wasn't any worse off already, I had schoolwork to catch up on, and I was missing the lessons. I wasn't gonna graduate on time, at this rate.

And my make-up work included Dickens.

And the doctor just kept staring at me. Asshole.

I kept trying to push my way forward in _Great Expectations_ and wondered how English students didn't manage to **all** commit suicide after trying to read this crap. Then again, most kids read the SparkNotes or Wikipedia the summary, like I'd be doing if I had any other way to spend my time. If only I had someone to tutor me.

But no. Everyone from Thurston avoided me. Plenty of people from McKinley came, dropped off flowers, had some chatter, and left me. They always left me. They'd forget me soon enough. My Attempt was just a flash in the pan, a blip on their radars, and I'd be forgotten very soon. I suck at Trig, English, and life, so why would I succeed at something like suicide? Even something as simple as peace was too hard for me.

I can't get a guy, but I can't be straight. I looked up at the watchman. It was only another couple of days. Maybe life would get better, like those videos everywhere on the internet. Probably not.

Life is just hopeless. This much loneliness is not worth it.

While I was wallowing in my self-pity that somehow made me feel better than reading about Pip and Miss Havisham, I heard a knock on the door. _Great. More people to fake being sad about me_. What I did not expect was Sebastian Smythe walking through that door. Nor did I want **his** brand of bullshit.

"Sir, could you give me a moment alone with Dave? I'd like to speak with him, privately." _Crap..._

The guy actually left! He hadn't done that the entire time, for anyone. Maybe he needed a restroom break, and he thought that I'd be fine with this clean-cut, polite man in the room. The polite man who was as clean-cut as the jocks from Thurston, though he was in his Dalton uniform. The polite man in the room who would either cut me to pieces again or patronize me like everyone else did. The polite man who took a breath and looked me in the eye as I set the book down, preparing myself for whatever onslaught was coming.

"I'm sorry."

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?"

"I. Am. Sorry. I'm apologizing, Dave, now please don't make me repeat it. I'm not good with apologies. I usually don't make mistakes," he said, look away for a moment, seeming a little annoyed and ashamed.

"That you know of."

"Touche. I shouldn't've insulted you when you only asked for advice," he responded, looking down for a moment before looking back at me.

I didn't say anything to that. It was pretty obvious. I just grunted and looked away. Seeing him reminded me of all of the condescending remarks that I'd gotten, and the last thing I needed was to feel even worse, even more unwanted, more unacceptable.

"Do you still want it?"

"Want what? Relationship advice from a guy who can't snag a real relationship for himself?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He was surprised at that. His shell cracked. Good. Nice to know that I could surprise the polite gentleman in uniform.

"Blaine. I saw you going after him at Scandals that one night. I figured you'd manage to break him down and add another notch to your bedpost by Winter Break, but even by February, Kurt was still with Blaine."

"So you asked out that... So you asked out Hummel on Valentine's Day, or something?" he asked rudely, obviously catching himself before unleashing what would have probably been another perfect insult.

"Yes. I already know that you think he's a virginal stick-in-the-mud, but he's too beautiful and sweet and forgiving and moral and... perfect. But he's too good for me, which is why he turned me down."

"Is that what he said? Because that's not true. And I won't even mention how creepy it is that you were spying on me enough to get my drink code." He tried a smile. I didn't return it.

"He didn't say it. Like I said, he's too nice. But it's true, and you know it. You of all people should know it."

"I was drunk! I didn't mean it-" he tried backpedaling.

"You damn well know how honest people are when they're drunk!" I rasped out, trying to yell, pissed at all of the false apologies, pissed with the fake sympathy, the rotten olive branches.

"Woah, calm down, big guy, don't want you throwing up your esophagus. Look, Dave, you may not be my type, but that doesn't mean that there aren't tons of men who would pick you over me in a heartbeat," he said, holding his hands in front of him while trying to calm me down, while I coughed up a bit. I shot him a look when he called me big, but I stayed quiet otherwise. "Quite honestly, you're kinda nice-looking, and I can see Hummel liking you, given the right circumstances. So. I will ask again. Do you still want that advice?"

I considered it. I thought about it. I rolled the idea around in my head, mulling it over. Taking his advice would be me saying that I had a chance with Kurt, which I didn't think. But it might work with other men, so what could be the harm?

"Fine. I might as well."

"Loving the enthusiasm, there. Do you really want it, or are you just trying to placate me?" he almost seemed hurt by that. Must've been a trick of the light, since his mask was back up.

"Uh... I need it, so yeah, I guess I want it. It's just hard to show enthusiasm when I was reading Dicken ten minutes ago." _Might as well make this easier for both of us_.

"Dude, I feel ya. That is some of the most boring shit I've had to read for AP. I'll even take a Bronte sister or Milton over Dickens. Though _A Tale of Two Cities_ wasn't as terrible as _Great Expectations_. What do you have to read?"

"_Great Expectations_."

"I would like to apologize on behalf of all English students that you have to read that without the internet to help you. I'd offer to tutor you, but I have lacrosse, Warblers, and my own massive pile of homework each night, not to mention that I live an hour away. Do you know anyone smart to help?" he said, grinning a little here and there, relaxing enough to try some of this small-talk.

"No. Everybody from Thurston is avoiding me, and nobody from McKinley cares about me anymore."

"Not even... Hummel?"

"He still hasn't visited, even though his friends have."

"So much for being nice and moral."

"Lay off him. I threatened to kill the guy when he found out my sexuality, so i shouldn't expect him to throw me a pity party if he doesn't mean it." The shocked look on his face gave me a moment of satisfaction at being able to surprise the clean-cut gentleman twice, until what I said sank in.

"It's still early. Dalton had a student holiday today, which is how I'm here, but maybe he's coming after school today."

"Why are you in uniform then?" It was getting eerily easier to talk to this guy. Maybe he was putting on a nice-guy act for me, instead of being a dick, like normal.

"Laundry day. This gets washed separately. So my first bit of advice? Get a tutor. Less work, less stress. Something tells me that missing this much school is a setback to an already, I'm guessing, lax academic track." He started to move toward the door. "Hell, ask Hummel. He seems to have a decent brain behind that gay face and prissy pompadour. Have a good one." And he left. Just like that.

I slumped back a little, ignoring my homework in favor of thinking this over. Sebastian would help me. But I didn't have his number. Maybe he had mine. I wouldn't find out until I got home, thanks to the hospital's policy against cell phones. And the guy wasn't back yet. What if Kurt would show up today? Maybe he'd show up by the end of the week, when I got discharged. Or maybe he really didn't care for me anymore. Maybe he was disgusted with my Attempt and didn't want to see me again. After all, I just demonstrated how much stronger he is than me.

And now Sebastian was a friend. Maybe. Sorta. At least, he was willing to mentor me a little. And now the watchman walked back in.

"He leave?" he asked, short and clipped, like anything he said, his harsh gray eyes boring into me.

"Yes."

"He bother you?" Of course he had to ask that, since it'd be on his head if I'd been bullied on his watch.

"No." And he nodded, and continued to watch me. I picked up my book, trying to escape his gaze, trying to understand what the hell was going on. I didn't know which was more confusing now: my schoolwork, or my life.

* * *

Punch bowls with lemonade and pop?

Check.

Vodka and rum beside them for spiking?

Check.

Chips and dip and salsa? Candy and cookies?

Check.

Breath mints and tongue depressors beside them for staying fresh and light?

Check.

Huge bucket inside the front door for money?

Check.

Beds all made with a small bowl of lube, dental dams, and condoms in each room?

Check.

Doors leading to specially stocked rooms locked with numbered keys in my pocket?

Also check.

Music set to a playlist descending from pointless party techno to bump-and-grind chic?

'Check' Republic.

Game supplies in the closet?

Check.

Hordes of guests?

On their way.

Even if people hated my guts, they rarely had to interact with me at my parties, which are legendary, I must say. They'd dance, get sloshed, fuck, puke, and pass out, and I'd have a clean house and breakfast buffet prepared for them when they woke up with a hangover. I couldn't care less if they used the tongue depressors to induce vomiting after too much junk food, if they stayed sober the entire night, or if they regretted their _amour du nuit_ the next morning. I didn't care if they left early to avoid seeing me. My job was to make sure people could enjoy themselves. And I always got my job done.

Which is why they kept coming back, even when they hated me for sleeping with their boyfriends, gay or not, or for usurping power from the benevolent dictators, or for cutting apart their flimsy self-esteem. They had fun. Hell, I usually had fun, too. Even if I spent half the night surreptitiously cleaning up after them, refilling the punch and snack bowls, and replacing the liquor bottles. Nobody was left hungry, thirsty, or unprepared at my parties, and people were rarely left sober and unsexed.

It also helped a ton that my parents never check their grocery bills and accounts except for the source. They didn't care how much I bought or what I bought, so long as it was food. I guess alcohol and condoms count as food, mom, dad. Big surprise.

_Dong_.

Doorbell. Time to collect the entry fee and begin the hosting.

Warblers arrived, Nightingales arrived, and, finally, some of the New Directions arrived fashionably late. As did many other Dalton students (Warbler worshippers, most likely) and a few other Crawford girls. I stopped admiring the casual attire on my classmates once Blaine arrived. Tiny-teeth was nowhere to be seen. His Frankenteen step-brother was here with his girlfriend, Broadway's bastard daughter. And the Asians. And the cheerleader lesbians. And Beyonce Iglesias.

But Blaine was finally here. And he looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. I watched him walk over to the snack counter in the kitchen, and I watched him walk in those ridiculously tight jeans, noted the curve of his muscles under his dark green long-sleeved polo, and smiled a little at how adorable his hair was when he let it a little loose. _Adorable? When did I become a crooning tween?_ I walked toward him, the noise getting less intense as the wall soaked the music and shouting in the other room, and I was slightly less tentative after our kinda-truce at Regionals.

"Hey, Killer. Didn't expect to see you here." No response. "Oh. You're not here to see me." Of course not. He was here to see his Warbler brothers.

"You nearly blinded me." I just sighed. Maybe this was a lost cause, tonight. He still hadn't actually forgiven me, after all. Why did it hurt more than the usual rejection? Or was I just disappointed after trying to make amends, to no avail? "And then you paid most of my hospital bills."

"Yeah. I did." _When did he find out? Why?_

"Where did you get the money?"

"Dad's rich. Mom's rich. I dipped into my accounts."

"Hospital bills still aren't cheap."

"Dad was displeased when he found out. Thinks I have anger issues now."

"So you tried to buy my friendship back, and you think some community service and bringing me back together with the Warblers will do... what? Get you in my pants? Maybe Kurt had you all figured out, and I was just as oblivious and naive as ever." He started walking away, clearly in a bitter and stubborn mood. I grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

"No, Blaine. Stop. I hated that I hit you, I hated that I couldn't rush to your side to try and help when you fell, and I hated feeling helpless to your recovery. I did what I normally do." It didn't occur to me that I was spilling everything to him, so I didn't question it. Maybe it was that he was my best friend.

"Which is buy people's approval and their silence from the police? My parents were fully prepared to file a lawsuit, and that suddenly changed."

_Shit!_ "No! Well, yes, but not quite like that. I offered to pay all of the bills, but they told me that your health insurance would cover some of the costs. Before and after that, I drank myself into a stupor and slept with half of the gay population in a 20-mile radius. Sex and drugs clear your head very quickly," I said, looking away, almost ashamed of my coping mechanisms. I couldn't see the look in his eyes. He'd be disgusted.

"Sebastian! You've never said anything about drugs!" He **was** disgusted. And worried. He still cared, if only a little. That was promising (and relieving). Maybe I could salvage this, if I played my cards right...

"Alcohol is a drug, Blaine; don't even kid yourself into thinking that it's any better than most. Depending on the politicians' children I'm landed with, I might also do some weed. Tried coke once. Hated it. I'm 'allergic' to weed. I go for alcohol for the class and the easy disposal out of the body. And I like the high. Makes me forget how much people hate me." _How can I be this open without drinking? Clam up!_

"Wow. Maybe if you were less of a dick, people would be more open to liking you."

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Blaine. I'm trying," I sighed, looking back up at him.

"I guess that's all I can ask." He started walking away again.

"Blaine. Wait. One more question. What are we? Friends?" I asked, a little too timid for my liking. _What's happening? I can be more forceful than this!_

He turned around, looking up and around, as if searching for the answer. He finally pursed his (beautiful) lips and looked me in the eye, eyebrows furrowed. "We're... missing the party." He offered a tight smile, nodded curtly, and walked out of the kitchen. I heard some (obviously drunk) and high-pitched girl yelling about spin-the-bottle.

My somber mood evaporated. My mouth involuntarily took on a devious grin, and I sauntered into the room, which had erupted into cheers of drunken assent and jeers of sober dissent. Everyone had gravitated towards each other in a circle, so I ran to the closet, got a bottle from the game box, and stuck it in the middle. People ignored my presence and sat down. Well, some people ignored me. Others left the circle on (probably wise) principle. Blaine wasn't one of them. Apparently, someone had given him a rum and coke while I was getting ready for the game. A heavy one that was now half-empty, by the wide eyes that the Abominable Slow Man was sporting. I also threw, next to the bottle, as Nick wobbled and reached for it, a 10-sided die. He stopped and looked up. All eyes were on me.

"My party, my rules. So. One person spins. The person they spin rolls the die to see how many minutes they have to spend together in the coat closet. Then that person spins for the next round. Continue until the last person is spun."

"Like trapezoidal approximation method?" asked the public school Asian man with the mad moves and a half-empty glass of something in his hand.

I blinked, surprised. "Yes. Like that. In a way." I had no clue that public school had calculus classes. Of course, everyone else had a glazed look. That was more expected.

"Ignore him. He getsss nerdy when drunk... 'r sober... 'r anything, really-hee-hee," giggled the Asian girl, snuggling up to her boyfriend.

Jeff took the bottle before Nick lunged for it again, and, as if the fates finally heard the prayers of any Warbler who had felt the sexual tension, he spun on Nick. They locked nervous googly eyes. It was disgustingly charming. Nick rolled the die. Six. They both walked into the closet. When they came out after someone yelled that time was up... well, the moans and giggles from inside (which earned a few snickers out here) combined with the mussed hair and switched shirts spoke to the mild resolution to that sexual tension. Especially considering how sound-proofed that closet was.

After Jeff spun the Latina lesbian for 2 minutes, he went for the stairs, where Nick had left upstairs to... I didn't even listen to his flimsy excuse. Jeff was blushing, and Booty Lopez saw this and held out her hand toward me as he hit the foot of the stairs, a kindred smirk in her eye. I handed her a key to one of the bedrooms, picking the one with roses and other romantic paraphernalia and shit. She beamed it at him after calling for 'Jeff Warbler-Bieber,' nearly spearing him in the eye. Two down.

Her and a Crawford girl after that. Lopez and other, blonde cheerleader left to go home after that, with blondie looking a little sad. I guess that would've made sense if the girl (Stacey?) didn't look so dejected after coming out of the closet. Bean Taco was trying to comfort her. It was so saccharine. Two more down.

Stacey spun David for 7 minutes. They went in and came out looking perfectly groomed. Except that David's pants seemed slightly tighter. And then he spun me, smirking slightly until the bottle stopped. If I'd been drunk, I think I would've laughed like a maniac at the way his face shattered on seeing that. I rolled 1 minute. Good. I did nothing. He would've kicked me. Besides, he was a dance co-captain, and I didn't want to strain the Warbler command anymore than it already was. We got out, and he sat back down, completely calm in the pants again.

As the fates were being so kind to the sexually frustrated, I so happened to spin Blaine, and I tried to not grin (too broadly). Moment of truth.

He rolled. The many facets of the die teased me.

4 minutes? Too short!

6? Maybe it was workable...

2 minutes? No!

Aaand...

Oh. Oh, fuck. _Whatever spirit I sold my soul to for this, thank you._

He rolled a 10.

We had ten minutes alone in the closet, and all of the waiting for the other couples had given him plenty of time for the alcohol to start taking effect. He swayed up to his feet and over to the closet while I got up and followed, ignoring the ice-picks glared at my back by our new peers. Once that door closed behind us, they couldn't touch us, see us, or, thanks to the thick coats hung around, even properly hear us.

Not for ten whole minutes.

Unless we pulled another Niff.

The door clicked shut, and we were engulfed in absolute blackness.

"Where's a light?" he said immediately, the slightest hint of a slur peeking our of his speech. I groped around, found the light cord, tugged down, and tripped over an umbrella. I caught myself on a trench coat and sat down, turning my eyes to Blaine, who was gaping at the coats in the closet with a small 'o' for a mouth. I looked where he was looking and saw all of the fur coats and silk scarves and trench coats and furry hats and ivory umbrellas. I'd like to say that dad collected them, but he only collected the mistresses who had left most of it.

"Is 'is real iv'ry?" asked Blaine, reaching for the handle of one opposite the closet from me. I chuckled, but before I could answer in the affirmative, he took a step and tripped over the same umbrella that had caught my foot, and tumbled backwards, grasping for anything-and getting the light cord.

Once darkness graced us again, I got slammed in my stomach, letting out a breathless 'oof!' Luckily for Blaine, I was sitting cross-legged, and luckily for me, he didn't land on my junk or slam his head against mine.

"Careful, there, Blaine. Don't need you twisting your ankle and accidentally siccing your Glee club on me for hurting their big, bright, shining star again." I thought the _Boogie Nights_ reference was a nice touch. I didn't think that drunk Blaine would hear the reference. I realized that I was wrong when he twisted around in my lap and laughed nervously.

"They know I'm drunk, so you'd be fine, but... How d'ya come off saying that, Seb? I know I'm big, but how'd'ja know yerself?"

I was a little speechless; was he flirting back? He rarely did that. _Milk this! Remember your resolution!_

"It's not difficult to notice, with those sinfully tight pants you wear," I said, purring in his ear.

"S-sebastian, I-I don't think we should do this..."

"We're not doing anything, actually. In fact, I think we've only got a few more minutes left." I was fudging it a little. We'd barely been in there for a few minutes. But I wanted him, so he had to be calmer. "Besides, I won't do anything. You will."

"How'd'ya figure?" he asked, puzzled beyond description.

"I don't take advantage of the drunk unless they give me license. And I don't kiss and tell. So, you kiss could me, I'd kiss back, and nobody would know."

"But I can't lie to Kurt. We trust each other too much."

"Then why are you still in my lap?"

"It's comfy... Oh gosh! And pokey!" He jumped up a little at (finally) feeling my hardening dick against his perfect ass. But he didn't move away, and his breath was coming a little quicker. "Always wondered what you... No! I'm drunk! 'S not right!"

"So I won't pressure you. Even though you know you want me."

"Oh really?" he asked, laughing lightly. I could catch the slight hitch in his voice, though.

"Yeah. I notice when guys get warmer down under, and you, Killer, have gotten quite warm. Not all of that is the alcohol, either. So. Do you want to actually kiss me? Or spend the next few hours wondering what it'd've been like?" I could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. He was very tipsy and tempted. I could remember each time that he'd flirted back, however briefly. I could place every compliment that I'd given that had sent him blushing. I could sense his walls breaking down each time he and I were alone together, and while he'd rebuild them when Mr. Sparkles or any other members of New Directions came around, they'd be easier to crumble the next time. The slushie was a major setback, but I was showing that I could be good, too. Donating to a charity, paying for the damage I'd done, relinquishing my pride to apologize and even open up a little. I was making it so hard for him to hate me. And it was harder to deny your lust for someone who you genuinely liked. Especially when you were a lustful drunk.

He seemed to tense up a bit. I listened. Nobody was coming. He chuckled nervously and said, "I can't see you, so even if I did, I wouldn't be able to." He thought that was so clever. Maybe he was a little too drunk? _Nah_.

"Then I'll help you." He began to question my meaning when I took my hand and placed it on his thigh, which I could pinpoint, since he was still on my lap, his ass pressed against my groin. I dragged my hand lightly up his body, feeling the dips and contours of his chest, and stopped at his face, where my finger was crooked under his chin. I brought his face close enough to mine that I could feel his breath on my face. I then took that same hand, dragged it the same way down his arm, and placed his hand at my cheek. "And now you can continue, if you want to kiss me."

He hesitated. I could feel him moving closer, swore I could feel his lips ghosting across mine, but then he asked, uncertainly, and very lowly, "Only a kiss? Just to try? We never need to speak of it again?"

"Absolutely," I muttered sincerely. _But with one kiss, you won't have enough of me. You'll want more. You'll want me. All of me. And I'll be very glad to reciprocate your_-

Blaine kissed me, completely interrupting my train of thought. He had taken my face in his hand and pulled me in, lightly pressing his amazingly soft and warm lips against mine. I quickly reciprocated, slightly less timidly, but not to such an extent as to scare him off. My hand found his chest again, and I traced along his body back up to his face, cupping his cheek and bringing him closer. It was so warm, so careful, and so good. I drew back for half a heartbeat to take a quick breath and reposition our lips, also taking my hand from his cheek to the back of his head. I started sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip and threading my fingers through his hair, feeling those soft, warm curls before he locked them away under his helmet of gel again. He kept kissing back, and his hand had even moved back a little, his fingers pressed on the back of my neck.

I sucked on his bottom lip, pulling away slightly, and he chased my lips, letting out a breathy sigh as I moved to his upper lip, sucking and nibbling until both were swollen the same. He started reciprocating, timidly sucking on my bottom lip while I continued to work on his top. I lightly swiped my tongue across his lip, and he let his mouth open just enough for me to slide my tongue inside. I explored it, eliciting a breathy moan from the quickly crumbling man in my lap. _Is every part of Blaine soft and warm?_ Barely remembering the time constraints, I took the hand that was not in his hair, which had gravitated to his waist, and I slowly and lightly dragged it down to his hip, bringing it closer and closer to the center-

Blaine's sharp intake of breath and jerking back from me scared me a little, as I thought I had just frightened him off, but then he sat back down in my lap, finding my lips again, and then I realized a very prominent change: he'd moved one leg over so that, instead of sitting in my lap sideways, he was straddling my lap. _Well that's unexpected..._ He returned to the fervor that we had before I got handsy, and he even pushed his tongue in my mouth and started tasting around. His hand found the back of my head, and he pulled me in harder, moaning lightly. I was shocked at how ardent he was, but I wasn't going to lose myself too much, because we didn't have all night, and I had to at least get him shirtless, or I had to get my hand in his pants, or I'd be having a very tough couple of weeks ahead. Maybe not with the sex, since this was prime fantasy material, but alcohol...

I brought one hand to the back of his head and reciprocated his motion, and brought the other hand down to his ass, and I rubbed at his backside, squeezing lightly. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and then he sank into my lap and freaking **ground** into me. I didn't think that he'd initiate anything like that. To keep him going, I groped and rubbed again and again, and he created a rather steady rhythm. Hell, I smacked his butt once or twice, which earned me a grunt of approval. I took both of my hands to his ass and pulled our hips together, and I ground up into him with a low moan, finally giving into my need for friction, since he was obviously less likely to pull away, considering how hard we both were. With a final squeeze with both hands, I snaked them to the hem of his shirt and lifted up, all hesitation gone. He made no move to take it off, so I started unbuttoning the top to help get it over his head.

While we continued to grind into each other, tongues clashing, lips swollen from the sucking and nibbling and occasional biting, I sank my hands down to the hem of his shirt again, and this time he retracted his hands, and just as I pulled up a bit, he breathed in sharply, kneeling (and taking pressure and heat and friction away from both of our dicks, both quite hard at this point) and, I swear I could sense this, prairie-dogging. I stifled a growl and directed my ears to the door.

Indeed, I did hear a high-pitched voice saying something along the lines of, "Time's up, boys! Time to come out of the closet!" much to the amusement of the others outside, who must've been pretty sloshed to find that genuinely funny. _Already? Shit!_ Whoever was coming to open the door was coming at a clipped pace, her shoes clacking against the hardwood audibly. Blaine sprang from me, and I heard him slam against the wall and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. I hugged at my knees, took a deep breath, and tried calming my heart rate to get my hard-on down a bit, and from the rustling and deep breathing from Blaine's side of the closet, he was doing the same. I rubbed at my face and covered my eyes, just as the door opened. I let the light seep in through my eyelids and hands, and got up. Thanks to my tight (and therefore somewhat restrictive) pants and years of practice at calming down in a pinch, it was barely noticeable that I'd been rock-hard a minute ago. Blaine was still blinking the light away, hugging at his knees. I looked at the door (_Ow! Bright! Too bright!_) and saw Berry there, looking between us suspiciously.

"Why is the light off?"

"Blaine tripped and grabbed the cord and turned it off."

"Hm. Well, we wanna continue playing, so if you would be so kind as to get up..." And she turned on her heel and walked off at the same clipped pace, until she stumbled. I was wondering when that'd happen. She seemed a bit tipsy, especially when she sank down by her fiance and snuggled up to him. Was everyone here out to be disgustingly saccharine?

I started on my way out, but heard nothing behind me. I looked back and saw Blaine staring at the space I had just vacated. He looked up at me with shell-shocked eyes, looked down at his slowly softening cock, and back up at me. I sent him what was supposed to be a reassuring grin, but it probably turned out wolfish instead, and I extended my hand. He took it, letting me pull him up. Then before I turned around, Blaine muttered, "Never speak of this." I gave him my most innocent blink and asked, "Of what?"

Then I turned on my heel and left him to go get a drink, putting up a slightly dejected facade. Before I took hold of the scotch in one of the cupboards, I remembered my bet, and that I hadn't met it. I groaned, putting the bottle away and opting, instead, for a scotch glass with root beer in it.

Couldn't get anyone suspicious.

I sipped at the glass, ruminating over everything that had happened in the closet. Either I underestimated how loose of a drunk Blaine was, or he was very attracted to me. He hated it, evidently, by the look of shock on his face, the need for secrecy, and his initial declination indicated as much, but he still went for it. He wanted me, and he hated that he couldn't control himself when we were alone. I started worrying, since I didn't know how he'd react when he sobered up. Would he even continue to speak to me? Would he ever drink around me again? Would he hate me?

I heard someone walk into the kitchen a while later. I turned around to see Blaine walking in, looking at me.

"Just spent a few minutes in the closet with a Crawford girl who didn't know that I was gay. It was kinda gross. She tasted like whiskey."

"She's a bit hard-core. So you done with the game?"

"I think I've had enough for one night. I might go home soon."

"You just got here! I figured Lopez and her beau wanted alone-time away from me, but what'll you do the rest of the night, if you won't stay and party?"

"Call Kurt and beg mercy?"

"Would you really?" I asked dryly, as the thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. "Could you even dial his number in your state?"

"Shuddup..."

"And you're not leaving until you're sober. I won't let you leave unless you're under the care of someone sober, and since there are so few eligible drivers left... You may need to spend the night. Before you freak, you get your own room."

"... I guess you have a point."

"I'm gonna continue with this party until everyone's either gone or passed out. Anyone leave while I was in here?"

"Actually, yes. Mike and Tina left, since they have work to do tomorrow. Something about sorting through college acceptance letters. And Finn and Rachel left, too, probably for some alone time away from the enemy."

"The enemy?" I half-laughed.

"Her words, not mine. A few Warblers coupled off with some Crawford girls to go upstairs. I think the rest of the partiers are playing another game, after all of the coupling off. 'Never Have I Ever' drinking game. Like everyone here isn't drunk enough for their own good," he added bitterly.

"Speaking of, did any of your glee-mates drink before coming here, or can none of them really hold their liquor? They were here for, what, an hour? At least the others were here for about two or three hours. They can be drunk off their asses and have a good excuse. Or are your public school buddies just too damn vanilla for a tame party like this-"

"Okay, Sebastian, you can stop insulting my friends **right now**!" he shouted. I stopped, snapping my mouth shut. His temper must be on a shorter fuse when drunk... "They're a little less insane with parties, yes, and no, their alcohol tolerance isn't as disgusting as some of the others'! Not everyone uses booze to mask their loneliness, and not everyone needs a good excuse to leave a party when they hate the host and aren't attached to the other members! Hell, most of them came for free food and a potential excuse to kick your ass if you tried anything with me, since I was coming with or without them!" He was on a huffing, red-faced, genuinely angry roll now. I held up my hands in surrender, but he had one more thing up his drunk sleeve.

"They don't throw enough parties to be connoisseurs like you, because they have **friends** or **family** on a Friday night-" And then his rant and facial expression stopped cold.

That had to be one of the coldest silences I'd endured in a long time. Like, since before I'd left Paris last summer.

He started to walk over, but stopped when I turned away to face the counter. If I ever needed a drink to make me forget, it was now. _Damn timing._ I refilled my glass with water, and, turning to face him, said, "You're too drunk. You need water. Take this and go to bed. Top of the landing, take a left, end of the hall, on the left. It's unlocked right now. I... I have work to do."

And I left him, glass in hand, a look of horror mixed with sickening regret-the kind that makes you want to curl into a ball and cry and vomit and disappear. I had no time to take shit from anyone, even the guy who was probably my best friend in the world. My mind went blank as I cleaned up and refilled, even though there were only about ten or fifteen people left who could dance or talk anymore. And some of them were heading upstairs or out the doors. I had stopped my count for long enough to completely lose track, but so few people were left to chaperone anyway. I just cleaned, replaced, and led the other kids to bed while I tried to keep my mind blank of Blaine shouting about the elephant in the room to my face.

I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece after I was done getting things spick and span again, surprised to see that it was already 2 AM. When I blinked a few times and looked around, I saw that only one person was left down here, and that was genderbent Biggy Smalls, who was watching me over the rim of a glass of punch. She wasn't glaring, like I'd expect a friend of Hummel to do, but she wasn't smiling, either. She was just staring. It kinda reminded me of Dr. Montgomery. Which reminded me of our sessions,and that I'd have to see her the day I could drink again. Which reminded me of my time in the closet with Blaine. Which reminded me of him losing it. _Tonight's really gone to shit._

She put the glass down, which jogged me from my glum reverie.

"Smythe." She said it like it left a sour taste in her mouth.

"I'd respond, but I don't know your last name," I said, not in the mood at all to deal with another verbal spat. I think it showed.

"I'm Mercedes Jones, and I'm Kurt Hummel's best friend. And you want to steal his boyfriend. That shit don't fly with me." _How matter-of-fact._

"So why haven't you left with the rest of Piwi's Playhouse?" I snarked, some of my attitude reviving.

"I wanna know why."

"Why what?"

"You want Blaine so badly, even though he's completely in love and uninterested."

_Not completely uninterested. And that's not love. That's settling._ "Why do you care?"

"Kurt may think that you're Beelzebub in disguise, but the Lord of Filth wouldn't clean up after a party **or** demand safety against drunk driving **or** careless sex, so I tend to disagree on that front. So what's your angle with Blaine? You care enough about others to keep them out of danger. Do you care about Blaine?"

"I'll ignore that you've been spying on me all night, 'cause that's just creepy. You say you're Kurt Hummel's best friend? Blaine's my best friend," I admitted, suddenly exhausted and ready for bed, not even bothering to insult Tinkerbell's asexual lovechild.

"Then shouldn't you be happy for how perfect he and Kurt are for each other?" she asked, her face softening (almost) imperceptibly.

"No. They're not perfect for each other. Blaine's too good for Hummel and deserves better," I said, repeating what I'd told Twilight Sparkle at the Lima Bean. I turned on my heel, forgotten trash in hand, and threw it away, turning around to see car-name Jones at the door, shaking her head. Before she stepped over the threshold and before I could snag a breathalyzer, she turned to me one last time, but not with

"I'm sober. And one more question for you: does Blaine really deserve someone like you over someone like Kurt?" she clipped.

And she walked out.

And I stood there, gaping, blinking.

_I don't know._

* * *

I had stumbled up the stairs, water in hand, ignoring the sounds of fucking seeping from the other rooms, following Sebastian's directions. I stepped into the room and turned around to see what had to be the most sparse room in the whole house: a couple of twin beds, a dresser, and a bedside table between the two beds were all that adorned the room, excepting the bathroom. This must've been the kids' guest room, if kids were to ever grace this mansion of mischief. There was a bottle of anti-inflammatory pills on the bedside table, too, underneath the window behind it. I stripped down to my underclothes, took a couple of pills, downed the water, and laid under the covers, trying to get some rest.

That proved to be nearly impossible, as I felt the room rocking back and forth in my horizontal drunkenness. That, and the aforementioned loud fucking in nearly every other room. Or snoring. Or retching. When things would get silent for a time, I'd drift into semi-consciousness, but then I would hear more bedsprings or snores. When I'd try to drift back to sleep, my mind would go back to me yelling at Sebastian.

Oh, he deserved a taste of his own medicine, sure, but I had taken it too far by exploiting exactly what he never mentioned, exactly what bothered him most. I tossed myself to my other side, trying to find a position that was comfortable and mostly sound-proofing. Sebastian spent so much of his time at home, buying his groceries and school supplies on his parents' credit, his dad is a state's attorney, his mom still lived in Paris, and he rarely let a conquest sleep over. He always did his homework, sometimes even at home if the library was closed or the Lima Bean was too crowded, and he was always punctual and polite to authority. Sebastian was a good schoolboy on the outside. He cared about the safety of those under his responsibility. He was just a domineering, manipulative, sleazy, bitchy lush with a talent for performing, which included lying and improvising insults, when he was surrounded by peers and supposed inferiors.

I turned over again. Most of this, I had gleaned from the few slips he had made after drinking too much. Most of this gave me a peek at why he did and said what he did and said. Most of this was relatively unknown to everyone else. Most of this was too sensitive for him to tell others, since he made so many enemies.

And I used his trust in me against him.

I sat up later, swaying around a little less than before. After getting up to get a few glasses of water from the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and focused on clearing the alcoholic fog from my head. The door closed downstairs after-was that Mercedes talking to Sebastian?-and there were no more sounds of cleaning after that. In fact, there were footsteps coming up, coming to my door.

Sebastian came in, looking distracted. He also looked particularly shirtless, his polo balled up in his hand. He probably heard me getting off the bed more than saw me move.

"Oh! You're still awake!" he exclaimed quietly, seeming to be genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. Hard to sleep with so many loud teens around." Of course, that had to be the moment that the room next door, which had squeaking bed springs before, now included a headboard slamming against the wall and muffled shouts.

Not that it made me feel awkward at all, or anything.

"I can imagine," he muttered, looking over his shoulder in the general direction of the noise. He chuckled softly, turning to face me again. "I thought the alcohol and exhaustion mixed together would've knocked you out cold."

"My head won't shut up. Look, about earlier, Sebastian-"

"Don't."

"Don't what? Apologize for-"

"Yes. Don't apologize. I deserved it." He looked away, so he couldn't see my look of damn-well-justified shock. "You keep telling me to, at least, not insult your friends. I keep forgetting that. Maybe I'll remember next time," he said, barely any inflection in his voice. "Now. We both need to get to bed... Those two should be finishing up soon, and **then** we'll be able to get some sleep."

"You're not going to try anything, are you?" I asked, after Sebastian had taken pajama pants from the dresser, as well as an undershirt.

"You mean besides changing, brushing my teeth, and sleeping? No, Blaine," he sighed tiredly, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans. Thankfully, today was not a day that he'd gone commando. Otherwise, he'd've been completely naked, except for socks. _Not that I care_...

"I'm not complaining, but why not?" I asked, confused at this rapid change in his intentions.

"My advances seemed to scare you after our little session in the closet."

"I see," I said, mildly surprised at how considerate he was being, and not letting my mind get into that debacle. He pulled on the pajama pants and walked over, sitting down next to me and looking me dead in the eye, the moonlight from the window making his eyes almost glow green. It was both mesmerizing and eery.

"I have one question before I brush my teeth," he said, pausing for me to decline, but when I didn't, he continued, "Do you truly love Hummel, or did you two only fall in love because you were the most eligible bachelors for each other at the time?"

The question came as a shock, and I was insulted that he'd accuse me of settling. But he'd asked in such a matter-of-fact tone that I didn't feel like I could just blow up at him-not when he'd been genuine, instead of snarky and belittling, like earlier. I felt another sinking feeling, as I again recalled not only losing my temper (again) but also reminding Sebastian of how empty his relationships were. He needed a friend who would make him happy, not more miserable, and he'd declined my apology before I could make it.

That bothered me, for some reason. Like he would take someone's drunken shit just to keep his friendship. Like he couldn't stand up to a friend when he went too far, like I couldn't he have been as much of a stone-hearted bitch with me, like when others insulted him?

I guess it's easier to rebound from a stranger's generic insult than a friend's verbal ice pick. I sighed, realizing that I hadn't answered his question.

"Of course I love Kurt," I said, looking at him tiredly. He met my eyes, raising an eyebrow and giving me a disbelieving smirk. "What?"

"You and I know very well 'what.' So if you love him so much, are you just not the monogamous type? I wouldn't have pegged you for a poly." He smirked even more, leaning into me.

"That's not what happened! I was drunk, and it was dark!" I had to come up with something, and fast. This was still confusing me, and I didn't need Sebastian making it any worse. I leaned away and said, "I was imagining Kurt in your place." _Clever distraction!_

"What?" he asked, almost yelling in shock, and thankfully backing off. "He and I are **nothing** alike!"

"Sure you are! Your coloring is similar, you're both much taller than me, and you're both very talented and... clean!"

"Clean? Really? Because he coifs his hair like a stereotype and I shower on a regular basis, we suddenly look alike? I guess I must smell like hairspray and he must taste like alcohol, too, for you to miss the distinctions!" By now he was laughing at me.

"Like I said, I was drunk! And my breath smelled like alcohol, too, so I could've thought that that was me! And he doesn't smell like hairspray!" Sebastian just raised his eyebrow toward me, again. "... Much. But I like it. Smells nice."

"I guess **something** about that hairstyle should be nice." He caught himself just as he said it, and I saw him backtracking, so I didn't say anything. "Which is to say that I dislike his choice of hairstyle."

"Funny. He feels the same way about you. That's another thing you two have in common: your mutual hatred."

"Damn right, Blaine," I said, smiling a bit.

"Why do you hate him so much? Really?" asked Blaine, his tone shifted completely-joking to hurt in the blink of an eye.

I couldn't very well answer him, knowing that he'd take it as some kind of BS love confession, or something. Why did all of these people love such a possessive prissy bitch? I may be a bitch, but I know how to let people free, I know how to trust them.

Okay. I guess I have issues in that department, too. But for different reasons!

"I need to go to bed. I have to get up early to make breakfast, Bloody Maries, and I need to buy some morning-after pills for the idiot girls who didn't use condoms properly, or at all."

He said nothing to that, just looked at me sideways, pursing his lips, scoffed under his breath, and rolled under the covers. I got up and passed out on my bed.


End file.
